


Hawkguy and the Devil

by titC



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, M/M, Tony Stark - Cameo, Whump, also adventures and heroing, brett mahoney - cameo, bruce banner - cameo, dealing with disabilities, h/c, jessica jones - cameo, karen page - cameo, only a cameo but he's D O N E already poor Brett, simone (hawkeye comics) - cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: It began like a lot of these things began for Clint: with a beautiful lady knocking on his door and asking for help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangovandium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangovandium/gifts).

> This Hawkeye is based on the Fraction / Aja & Co run, the few cameos from other Avengers are... *handwave* Ambiguous Canon.
> 
> Also fits my DaredevilBingo prompt _friendly competition_ (you know these two lovable dumbasses are having Rooftop Competitions, right?)
> 
> Fic written for Daredevil Exchange 2019, prompt: _character A gets badly wounded, so bad that it might have permanent effects and Person B tends to them._ Its, uh. That. Sort of. Look, i tried ;-)
> 
> A few spoilery Trigger Warnings linked to that are listed in the fic end notes, also if you want to know beforehand whether this has a happy ending / permanent injury etc or not. 
> 
> Many, many, MANY thanks to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel) for betaing, hand-holding, coding help, and generally being Best Egg, Foggy-grade awesome ♥

It began like a lot of these things began for Clint: with a beautiful lady knocking on his door and asking for help. Not something he could have ignored, right?

So he invited her in, introduced her to Lucky the one and only pizza dog, started a fresh pot of coffee (and yes, he’d washed the pot since the last time he’d drunk from it, he wasn’t a total slob. Not _all_ the time, okay?), and only realized his mistake when, after setting pen and notepad on the kitchen counter, she asked, “Can I record our conversation?”

Shit. She was a journo. “I thought you needed help, Ms., uh.”

“Page. Karen Page. And I do, or rather our client does.” She slid a card to him. It read _Nelson, Murdock & Page: Law & Investigation._

“You’re an attorney?”

“Nelson & Murdock are. I’m the investigation part.”

“What do you investigate?”

“Our client is accused of a murder that he claims he didn’t commit. We believe he was framed. There is pressure on the detective on the case to ignore all other avenues, and so we are trying to find proof that can’t be waved away.”

“What does any of this have to do with me? My delinquent days are far away; I’m one of the good guys now.” Mostly. Clint poured the coffee and put one of the mugs in front of her. It was, of course, purple. The color suited her; she had red lips and blue eyes and porcelain skin and – “Sorry, what were you saying?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You saved him from a mugging on the evening the murder was committed. You’re his only alibi, but _Dude with a bow in the Upper West Side_ didn’t cut it as a believable lead to explore in the eyes of some.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’re doing a serious police investigation.”

She sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

“When was that? I was there last week, and I did put an arrow through a guy’s bike tire. He was pointing a gun at someone’s face so I shot the tire as a warning, but when I got there he’d already ran away. Left his bike there, too.”

“Do you remember the day? Anything about the bike? Did you talk to the threatened party?”

Too many questions, not enough caffeine. Clint topped up his mug. “Last Friday, I guess? Yeah, Kate was here for the weekend. Bike was a bike, you know? It was, uh. Big. Your client thanked me, I hopped on the C line, and that was that.”

“With a bow. You took the subway with a bow.”

Clint scowled. Yeah, he did; so what? “I have a bow case.”

“But you’re an Avenger. Don’t you have other options?”

“The C line’s fine.”

She seemed to find this doubtful, but let it go. “Right. Can you confirm this is the guy?”

She showed him a photo from her file, and Clint nodded. Yep, that was the guy. “Sure can.”

“Good! So, do you think you can come by our office this week? We’re trying to build a good defense for our client; he could have motive and means but if he wasn’t there, then…”

Clint looked at the card. Hell’s Kitchen, uh. “Sure. This afternoon, if you’d like. Got to help Simone with some furniture this morning, but then I’m free.”

Once the Ikea shelves were up and _not_ running, wobbling or crashing down, Clint changed from sweatpants to jeans, then to suit pants, then back to jeans. They wouldn't see the hole in his sock, sure, but what about everything else? He was going to see lawyers, but not fancy ones, but still lawyers, but in Hell’s Kitchen, but he had to look like a reliable witness one could trust. What was he supposed to wear? He’d looked them up once Ms. Blue Eyes was gone; they seemed like decent people. Going after Fisk, after corrupted agents… that was good. Clint settled on clean and tear-free jeans with a shirt that didn’t have too many creases, and he left for Manhattan.

Nelson & Murdock (& Page) had a little run-down office in a low building that had seen better days, sure, but had a kind of homey feel to it too. There was fresh paint on the door, a potted plant and some toys and magazines in the tiny waiting room. Ms. Blue Eyes’ desk was wedged behind a screen that could be opened or closed, and right now it was open. She nodded at him and pointed at a door to her left, and after Clint had finished looking around to see what windows he could jump out of in case a quick exit was needed he knocked on the open door.

“Hi?” The two guys inside looked up. “I’m Clint Barton, guy with a bow?”

“Oh!” They both stood up and the blond one made a beeline for him. “Hawkeye, right?”

“Yep, that’s me. Franklin Nelson, yes?” Never let it be said that he didn’t do his homework. Most of the time. Okay, so there was that _one_ time when he couldn't read all the file before the mission but there had been _circumstances_, all right? Cap had said it was okay, just the once.

Nelson shook Clint’s hand with enthusiasm and led him around the table. “Call me Foggy, please. Come in and have a seat, I was just looking at that case with my partner, Matt Murdock.” The blind one, Clint remembered.

More handshaking, chairs scraping on linoleum, and then they were all sitting down. “So you need me to testify, is that it?”

“Yes. Our client, Josh Sheppard, is accused of the murder of one Rod Stryder.” Murdock’s fingers were lightly resting on thick paper where Braille letters had been… printed? Punched in? What was the word? Clint assumed that was their client’s file. “Stryder was Vanessa Fisk’s bodyguard, and given the connections the DA wants this closed up as quickly and neatly as possible. Josh is a perfect candidate: former drug addict and ex-con shoots his ex-wife’s boyfriend… no need to tie this with anything embarrassing or complicated.”

“But Josh didn’t do it.”

“No. He’s been claiming his innocence since day one.”

“And you believe him?”

Murdock’s smile was disturbingly sharp. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, uh, people lie.”

“But you saw him right around the time forensics said Stryder was killed,” Nelson – Foggy, said. “And in an entirely different neighborhood.”

Well, fine. But forensics gave you a time window, not a precise minute. “Are there any other suspects?”

“Not officially, but…” Murdock’s lips pursed a little, and Clint noticed there was a mostly healed cut there, like he’d split his lip a couple weeks ago. Huh. Must have walked into a door or something.

“But?”

“_But_,” And Foggy Nelson was glaring at his partner (not that said partner would see it, hah), “we’re focused on saving our client from spending the rest of his days in a prison. We’re not doing the job of the police here, Matt.”

“Brett said – ”

“Brett can’t take all the NYPD cases, Matt.” Foggy turned back to Clint. “Detective Brett Mahoney is a friend of ours who’s a detective in the department. It’s not his case, but Matt here likes to pretend Brett’s the only detective in the entire force.”

“He’s the one we know for sure is not corrupted or an idiot.”

“Well I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to hear you say so, but as it stands he’s just one guy.”

Murdock frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Maybe I can help,” Clint said. _What the fuck are you doing, Clint?_ That voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Kate’s. Shit.

“An Avenger investigating random murders will raise eyebrows,” Murdock said.

“Eh, most people don’t really recognize me. At worst, they'll think I’m the Iron Fist.”

“What?” Murdock snickered and Nelson looked like he was aiming for dignified but achieving only constipated, until he admitted defeat and joined his partner in cackling. “How can they confuse you?” Murdock asked.

“Well, they both have blond hair, I guess?” Nelson tilted his head. “Kinda lean, too?”

Murdock’s lips quirked. “Hair color aside, the Iron Fist tells everyone he’s the Iron Fist. That's a pretty easy tell.”

“I’m the Iron Fist,” Clint said.

“Oh no, you’re not saying it right… you have to be more earnest, Mr. Barton.”

“Matt’s right, you’ll have to work on it.”

“Ugh. Call me Clint, please. You’ve met the guy?”

Clint was treated to some weird faces, then Nelson shrugged. “Our professional paths have crossed, yeah.”

Okay, so there was history there. Maybe he could ask Natasha if she knew anything. “Look, I’ll try and see if I can find anything, all right?” Ah, shit. Maybe he should tone it down with the _looks_ and the _sees_, right? Blind guy right here.

“You do that,” Murdock said. “I’m not good at the seeing part.”

Ah, _fuck_. “Yeah, sorry, I meant, uh.” Fuck fuck fuck, _rude_, Barton.

“Don’t mind him, he’s being a jerk.” Nelson elbowed his partner and winked at Clint. “Just winked at Hawkeye, Matty. Bit soon for blind jokes, all right?”

“Fine, side with an Avenger against me, _see if I care_.”

Nelson looked at his partner with an expression somewhere between exasperation and affection. Maybe he was Murdock’s Kate? The way he said, “_Matt_,” was sure Kate-ish.

Still, terrible jokes. Who didn't like terrible jokes? “So uh, I’ll call you, you call me?”

Nelson and Murdock's heads swiveled to look (or not-look, as it were) at him. “All right, will do, Mr. – Clint.”

They all stood up; Nelson gently steered Murdock as they walked him out after a few words with Ms. Blue Eyes, and Clint knew he’d look into that case. He was already involved anyway, right? Only good sense to get in deeper.

He could already picture Kate’s narrowed eyes and Nat’s frown.

It was going to be great.

Nat, of course, told him to stay the fuck away from everything Fisk-related. He was in prison again, but rumor had it his wife had taken up the slack and that she was even more ruthless. Nothing could be pinned on her; she had reopened her art gallery and everything was all legit and aboveboard, except racketeering and drugs and illegal gambling and other assorted Bad Things were on the rise, especially around Hell’s Kitchen.

But if her bodyguard had been killed, then that might mean a new player was here and threatening her rule… from what Nelson & Murdock had said the DA preferred to ignore that, maybe because they didn’t have the means to fight it or maybe because of corruption.

“You shouldn’t dig into this mess, Clint.” Work-wife was advising prudence and reason, as predicted.

Fuck that. “What about the kids they get addicted to all kinds of shit, Nat? What about the dog-fighting rings, huh?” Lucky whined pitifully: good dog.

“Don’t you have enough on your plate right here?”

“Eh, tracksuit Draculas are out, you know? Gotta find something to fill my days.”

“I guess it’s better than drinking beer on your couch while feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Hey!” He hadn’t done that in… a while. So.

“Fine. I’ll give you two names: Jessica Jones, and Daredevil. Local vigilantes, and she’s also a PI.”

“That’s actually three names. Uh, does Daredevil count as a name?” Because if it didn’t then it was two names, right? Work-wife did the cool, unimpressed, cut-your-bullshit-right-now stare at him, and Clint looked away. “Right. I’ll, uh. Look them up.”

“I’m not encouraging you to get involved, but if you’re going to anyway…”

“Thanks, Nat.”

“Don’t mention it.”

When she left Clint looked at the pile of arrows he still hadn’t sorted, then at his laptop, then at Lucky, and the hopefully wagging tail won.

“Time for a walk, buddy.”

Looking up those two (or three, look, the jury was still out) names could wait until later.

It was early evening when Clint left Bed-Stuy again, but this time he’d left the good jeans home. From what he’d gathered, Jones and the Devil guy both were the kind to attract trouble and get into fights or even seek them out. It was a knife-strapped-to-the-ankle kind of situation, he decided. The bow stayed home; he wasn’t out to look for trouble but trouble might find him, so: knife. _Trouble would _absolutely_ find him,_ his inner Kate said.__

_ __ _

Inner Kate really didn’t have to be such a downer, really.

_ __ _

Hell’s Kitchen after sundown was not that different from Clint’s own neighborhood. Shady deals and a couple mom-and-pop diners, meth heads and people going out for drinks, nothing he wasn’t already familiar with. He found a little rundown bar, got himself a beer, cranked up his hearing aids and settled to listen in to the chatter around him, pretending to look at his phone.

_ __ _

Josie’s looked like the kind of place he’d get some intel from, if not about Fisk & Co then about the Jones lady PI or the guy running around rooftops. The beer was shitty, the glasses he could see behind the counter were of dubious cleanliness, and the woman serving the patrons was about as welcoming as a warden at Ryker’s, but the crowd sure was interesting. Clint caught snippets from the tables around him – _Lost my rent money in that game, Guy tried to steal my bike so we beat him up, Jan left me_… things that didn’t really tell him anything yet.

_ __ _

Then, “Heard the devil fucked up Ricardo’s lab last night, boss wants his head.” Getting somewhere, finally.

_ __ _

“Yeah. After the new guy killed her bodyguard…”

_ __ _

“Shh!”

_ __ _

“Right.”

_ __ _

There was nothing interesting after that; the two guys had caught on this wasn’t the place to be too open about their business. Clint finished his beer and walked out of Josie’s, keeping an eye on the rooftops and his thoughts on what he’d heard. Daredevil was active at the moment and going after, presumably, that Vanessa Fisk… and there was a new guy, whoever that was. Certainly not the Sheppard dude Nelson and Murdock were defending.

_ __ _

The Kitchen was bustling even at night, cars honking and people laughing and TVs blaring and – shit, that was a gunshot, and then someone’s scream. No one seemed to react around him, but even if Clint’s hearing wasn’t great that was unmistakable. He ran in the direction of the screaming, the crowd opening and closing around him as if people running towards danger was a normal, everyday thing here. Maybe it was.

_ __ _

Clint ducked around a few dumpsters behind a couple restaurants and a dry cleaner, and there it was: a guy moaning on the ground, and Daredevil himself kneeling over him and putting pressure on his stomach.

_ __ _

His head twitched in Clint’s direction. “You got a phone?” Hey, press articles hadn’t mentioned the raspy, slightly silly voice.

_ __ _

“Yeah?”

_ __ _

“Call 911. GSW to the gut, going into shock, temperature dropping, tachycardia. Shooter’s away, it’s safe.”

_ __ _

Clint blinked, then got his phone out and dialed. He relayed questions and answers, and soon enough he could hear the sirens getting closer. “They’re here,” he said.

_ __ _

“I know.” And then Mr. Batman Voice jumped up, caught the bottom of the creaky fire escape above them, and disappeared like he’d never been there.

_ __ _

Got to hand it to him, Clint wouldn’t have done it any better.

_ __ _

After a few minutes explaining that no, he didn’t know anything and yes, he would be available for further questioning, he finally managed to leave the stinky alley. He got in the first door he could see, ran up the stairs and got his cardio in for the day, found the trapdoor, and finally got on the roof. This was supposed to be Daredevil’s playing field, but it was his, too. He was a sniper, after all, and an acrobat. Among other things. High places were Hawkeye’s as much as Cheapo Batman’s. Seriously, wasn’t this guy wearing some Kevlar on some of the pictures he’d found? The Daredevil he’d just seen had sure been rocking cargo pants and a tight shirt, but that was no protection.

_ __ _

“Looking for me?”

_ __ _

Clint jumped. Shit, Bruce Wayne Wannabe had managed to sneak up on him. “I thought you’d have been elsewhere by now.”

_ __ _

“Figured you’d want to find me. Didn’t want you to try and track me.”

_ __ _

“Oh man, I wouldn't try and track you, I’d just track you.”

_ __ _

Wow, most of his face was hidden but that only made the super cocky smile more obvious. “Dream on, Hawkeye.”

_ __ _

Hey, he recognized him! Didn’t even mistake him for the Iron Fist, although maybe that was because they actually worked together from time to time. Clint preened a little, because you had to take what you could, right? “You a fan?”

_ __ _

The smile turned into a smirk. “I’m not the one looking for some private you-and-me time.”

_ __ _

“Aw, man, you’re making me sound like a stalker. You’re the one hiding your face, not me.”

_ __ _

“Part of my charm.” Batdevil sat on the low ledge that ran around the roof, and Clint spotted a tear in the black shirt.

_ __ _

“Hey, you hurt?”

_ __ _

Clint took a step closer but Fake Batman threw a hand up to stop him. “I’m fine.” Right, yes. Hence the sitting, probably. Now Clint was paying attention, it looked like the black shirt was soaked with blood. It was hard to say in the dim light, but it was definitely wet. “Thought you were based in Brooklyn.”

_ __ _

“Are we being territorial now?”

_ __ _

Bargain Basement Batman shrugged and absolutely didn’t suppress a wince. “Heard you’re involved in a Fisk-adjacent case.”

_ __ _

“News travel fast around here.”

_ __ _

“Small neighborhood.”

_ __ _

“Right. Well, yeah, I am. Thought I’d look around.”

_ __ _

“What did you find?”

_ __ _

“That you busted a drug lab yesterday, apparently.” Oh, the smirk was back. “And that there’s a new player in town that they think is the actual bodyguard killer.”

_ __ _

Asshole tilted his head like the jerkiest of birds. “Uh. You’re not lying.”

_ __ _

“Well no, I’m not – hey!” Discount Batman was already on the next building’s roof before Clint reacted but hah, the game was on; Clint jumped after him anyway. He wasn’t going to be outdone by a guy wearing that thing on his head. Was he that ugly? He had a decent jaw and mouth so the rest couldn't be that bad, right? It took a few minutes, but he finally managed to catch up to Bandana Batman. He was panting hard and his hand kept wanting to cover his wound; could be he’d lost more blood than was safe to go parkouring from roof to roof in the dark. Few people had eyes as sharp as Clint, after all, and that guy’s eyes were covered with fabric. Even if it was really thin there, it had to impair his vision. “You done running?”

_ __ _

“Chat’s over. Leave me alone.”

_ __ _

“Look, we’re interested in the same stuff, right? Can I give you my number? You can tell me if you find anything, okay?”

_ __ _

“No. This is not your fight.”

_ __ _

Was this how people felt when Clint told them he didn’t need help? Holy shit. “Well it is now. Come on, man!”

_ __ _

“You’re a pain, you know that?”

_ __ _

“Yep.”

_ __ _

“Just… talk to Nelson, Murdock, and Page. We’re in touch.”

_ __ _

“What do you mean, you’re in touch? How often?”

_ __ _

“Often.” Cape-less Batman crossed his arms and leaned against a chimney stack. He tried to play it cool, but Clint could see he needed the support. He recognized the move very well. “Look, if this is who I’m starting to think it is…”

_ __ _

“Who do you think it is?”

_ __ _

“Bad news.”

_ __ _

And with that, Pretend Batman turned and took a running leap over the gap between this roof and the next. Bit dramatic, that guy, but would have been great in the circus. People loved showy stuff like that.

_ __ _

Clint shrugged and didn’t follow; if he was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon-ing his way all over Hell’s Kitchen, he probably wasn’t that badly hurt. Or he was suicidal, and in that case he really shouldn’t – ah, fuck. Clint would try and find him again the next day, make sure he was still alive.

_ __ _

Maybe the Daredevil name actually suited him, after all.

_ __ _

_ __ _


	2. Chapter 2

Clint woke up to pointy things poking him in the side.

_ __ _

“Wut,” he mumbled. Not that he expected to hear any sort of answer, of course; not without his aids. He fumbled for them on his bedside table while fending off Lucky’s enthusiastic bouncing on his stomach, put them in, rubbed his face, and blinked at the woman standing at the foot of her bed. She looked pissed.

_ __ _

“You awake now?”

_ __ _

Clint sort of gurgled. Coffee, first.

_ __ _

“I put some coffee on downstairs. Don’t make me wait.” She turned away and left his bedroom, and Clint sighed.

_ __ _

“Fuck,” he said to no one. Well, to Lucky, but Lucky didn’t deserve that. “Not you, you’re the best.”

_ __ _

Once he’d put on pants and a shirt with no visible hole, he followed the smell of coffee down to his kitchen. The woman was still there, all dark hair and pale skin and leather, kind of a Goth Snow White. She held out a mug and Clint decided he could get behind strange women barging in if they made him coffee.

_ __ _

“So,” he said after he’d downed half of it. “Hi?”

_ __ _

“Heard you were witness to a shooting yesterday.”

_ __ _

“Uh, yeah. How did you…?” Clint made a circle with his mug. How did she get in?

_ __ _

“I’m a PI. Looked you up, neighbor told me which apartment was yours. I knocked, you didn’t answer, I came in.”

_ __ _

Had he left the door open? He pointed at his hearing aids to explain his lack of answer. “You Jessica Jones?” She nodded. “So, is your name one name or two names?”

_ __ _

“What?” She stared. “You need more than coffee to make sense in the morning?”

_ __ _

Clint finished his mug and dove for the pot before she reached it. “Nah, just need a lot of it. Isn’t the NYPD doing an investigation themselves?”

_ __ _

“They are, but the guy’s mom doesn’t trust them. She was knocking at my door at 6 am this morning. I’m not a morning person, Mr. Barton.” Yeah, no. Given the angry vibes coming off of her, she wasn’t.

_ __ _

“Did he live? Her son, I mean.”

_ __ _

“So far. They’ve put him in a coma for now, but he should make it.”

_ __ _

“He wasn’t in good shape last night.”

_ __ _

“I bet he wasn’t. So, what did you see?”

_ __ _

“Not much. Heard a gunshot and a scream, ran to it, found Daredevil putting pressure on the wound. You could try and find him; he’d have seen more.”

_ __ _

This, somehow, got Clint a smile. “I doubt it, but thanks for the intel. I’ll ask him.”

_ __ _

“You know him?”

_ __ _

“We’ve met.”

_ __ _

“I think he got hurt, too, but nothing bad.”

_ __ _

Jones rolled her eyes. “He’s a dumbass. Look, this might tie in to the Sheppard case, just so you know. The one you’re linked to.”

_ __ _

“What? How?”

_ __ _

“I’m pretty sure last night’s vic worked for Fisk.”

_ __ _

“Which made him a target?”

_ __ _

“Which made him a target.”

_ __ _

Aw, no. It was like peace and quiet were never going to be in Clint’s life, ever. “So uh, do you have a number I can call? If I find stuff, I mean.”

_ __ _

“You’re not supposed to be _finding stuff_.”

_ __ _

“Well maybe stuff might find me, you know?”

_ __ _

“You’re a witness and a man’s proof of innocence, that’s all.” She tried to stare him down but Clint was used to scary women between the ex-wife, the work-wife, and Hawkeye the Younger. And the ex-friend-girl, but _she’d_ decided to leave for better climes and less disaster-y guys – her words. New York’s clime was _fine_.

_ __ _

“Look, Miss…” She had an impressive scowl, wow. Backtracking. “Er, look. I don’t like what’s happening, and… I really don’t like it?” He scratched his head. He _didn’t_, all right?

_ __ _

She scoffed. “Avengers. Didn’t know you people cared about the plebes.”

_ __ _

“Hey! I’m a plebe. Lots of us are plebes.” She looked supremely unimpressed. “So, um. Do I get a number, do I knock on some lawyers’ door…?”

_ __ _

“What?”

_ __ _

“The Daredevil guy, he said I should talk to Nelson and Murdock if I wanted to tell him anything.”

_ __ _

“He said that? Idiot.” She fished a card from her jacket and handed it to him. “Here’s my number. I got his too, if you want it. Can write it down for you.”

_ __ _

The guy hadn’t wanted to give it, so Clint felt it was probably rude to get it elsewhere. Right? Damn, he could imagine Nat shaking her head right now. But s_he_ was the spy, not Clint, okay? “Nah, it’s fine. He seems to be big on privacy.”

_ __ _

Goth Snow White rolled her eyes. “Jerk stole my scarf to hide his face. Getting him to give it back took some work.”

_ __ _

Wait. “So you know who he is?”

_ __ _

“We’ve worked together. Now look, I have a job to go back to. I’d say don’t be an idiot but I’d be wasting my time, right?” She put her mug back on the counter, scratched Lucky’s ears and got some enthusiastic tail-wagging in return. “By the way, your lock is broken now; better change it,” she added before leaving. Aw, crap.

_ __ _

Clint was officially curious, and hey – maybe he could crack this case before PI Leather Jacket? Could even show Kate she wasn’t the only Hawkeye who was good at the investigating song and dance. A guy had to think about a future when he wouldn’t be able to break his own bones for a living, right?

_ __ _

It was perfect reasoning, and Clint decided it was time for a shower and shave before leaving Lucky with the neighbors and heading for Hell’s Kitchen. He was going to tell those lawyers about what he’d learned since he’d seen them, they’d be impressed and tell him everything about this case, and it was going to be awesome. He even put on a tie; it was totally serious investigation business.

_ __ _

`Starting new PI gig,` he texted Kate from the subway. `Will steal ur job. Just u wait n see.`

_ __ _

_ __ _

Aw, damn. No one was answering at Nelson and Murdock. Maybe he should have called before leaving? He was _not_ telling Kate about that, no way. Okay, he could explore Hell’s Kitchen while he waited for them to come back. They’d have to be in their office at some point, right? Maybe they were in court this morning, being lawyers and all.

_ __ _

Clint decided this was a perfectly good plan, and he set out to explore Hell’s Kitchen. You had to be familiar with the area of interest in your investigation; Kate would approve. His inner adult often spoke in a Kate voice, and Kate was a _baby_, oh my god. He looked at himself in the glass door at the entrance of the building: he was wearing a decent suit, not one he’d like to tear or get dirty. Time to hit the streets then, maybe find some decent coffee somewhere. And a donut.

_ __ _

_ __ _

The neighborhood had, in fact, lots of inspiring food places. Clint found his donut, a toy shop that sold Avengers-themed merchandise (Tony was going to hate that little Iron Man figurine with an old suit design), a pet store where he found an arrow-themed collar for Lucky with an actual little bow and arrow instead of a tag, and had perfect dim sum for lunch. He dutifully took note of the general map of the place but he was better at that from above, and he’d be coming back that night (with more appropriate clothes for exploring, of course).

_ __ _

He went to the art gallery Vanessa Fisk had opened, too. It didn’t have her name on it, but it did have a lot of security: one guard at the door, several inside, and he spotted a couple around the gallery itself – one in a Starbucks right in front of the gallery, another walking around the block. They were discreet but Clint was good at this. The gallery itself had weird modern stuff he didn’t get, but there was one painting that looked a little like a practice target and he was tempted to come back in the evening with his bow and arrows. The CCTV looked expensive but he could get around it, no problem.

_ __ _

Early afternoon came, and Clint walked back to Nelson and Murdock. This time they were in, minus Ms. Blue Eyes who was apparently on paperwork duty somewhere else. The blond one, Nelson, looked chipper enough, but the way he was looking at Murdock reminded Clint of how Kate often looked at him: exasperation, concern, annoyance… Murdock did seem a bit pale, and he was quiet.

_ __ _

“Did you lose your court thing this morning?” It was, Clint thought, a very good deduction.

_ __ _

“No, we got what the client wanted,” Nelson said. Oh. Wrong deduction, then. “No thanks to Matt here,” he added with a glare. Pointless: the guy was blind, right?

_ __ _

Still, Murdock seemed to feel it somehow; he winced. “I said I was sorry. I’m sure you were awesome, Fogs.”

_ __ _

“Yeah, yeah. I always am, right?”

_ __ _

“Um.” Were these two married or something? It felt like it. “Should I come back later?”

_ __ _

They both turned their heads to stare at Clint. Well, Nelson stared, Murdock just faced him. “Apologies. I couldn’t make it to court this morning and Foggy was on his own. Did you want to add to our conversation yesterday?”

_ __ _

“Right! Yes. So, I was in the neighborhood last night,” Clint started. Nelson’s eyebrows crept up his forehead, but he didn’t say anything. “Heard a gunshot and someone screaming so I went to see what it was. A man had been shot down, and the Daredevil guy was already there, putting pressure on the wound. Called 911 and got a workout following Daredevil.” Murdock smirked for some reason.

_ __ _

“Did you catch up to him?” Nelson (_Foggy_, he wanted to be called Foggy for some unfathomable reason) asked.

_ __ _

“I did, yeah. Dude’s a bit insane, doing all that jumping around with a hole in his gut.”

_ __ _

“_With a hole in_ – ”

_ __ _

“From what I hear,” Murdock said over Foggy’s sputtering, “you’re not always the most careful either.” 

_ __ _

“When people are trying to kill me, I do try to get away, sure. Okay so I don’t always check I’ll have a safe landing, but look, I’m still here, right? Anyway, I wasn’t trying to kill Knock-off Batman!”

_ __ _

“Knock-off Batman? Ouch.”

_ __ _

“I don’t know, Matt, it’s not a bad description.”

_ __ _

“Well it’s not like I know what he looks like!”

_ __ _

“Like a guy _with a hole in his gut_, apparently.”

_ __ _

Aw, they were back at it. Clint cleared his throat. “Well, I mean, it didn’t look too bad; he was still standing and everything.”

_ __ _

“Does he have a cape?” Murdock asked. “Batman has one.”

_ __ _

“I really don’t think he needs one, _Matthew_.” Foggy’s glare was at thing of beauty. “So what did you learn, Clint?”

_ __ _

“Er, well, this morning a woman came to see me and said the guy who was shot had worked for Fisk, and that it was linked to your case.”

_ __ _

“A woman?”

_ __ _

“Jessica Jones. Said the vic’s mom hired her.”

_ __ _

“Jessica’s involved too? Oh boy.” Foggy sighed. “It’s going to be one of _those_ cases.”

_ __ _

“Yup,” and Murdock actually smirked. There were teeth in that smirk.

_ __ _

_ __ _

Clint mulled on the meeting on the trip back. Call-me-Foggy Nelson and Late-for-court Murdock really seemed to care about their clients, but he could pick up some tension between them too – Nelson was half-worried, half-exasperated with his partner. Unreliable, maybe? But when they got going Murdock was the aggressive one, ready to tear through the DA and the entire NYPD if need be; Foggy was more prudent and the one to advise taking more time to bolster their defense. They were a good team, Clint thought. Probably.

_ __ _

As he was walking home from the subway, his phone rang.

_ __ _

“Tony? Are we assembling?”

_ __ _

“Nah, we’re good. Just, Nat said you were buddying up with lawyers and vigilantes in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m hurt, Clint. I have an entire floor filled with attorneys; I can lend you one, no problem.”

_ __ _

“I didn’t go to them, they came to me.”

_ __ _

“Oh. Oh, well. Offer still stands, though.” There was a clanking sound; Tony was probably in his workshop then. “Say, if you meet some of the vigilantes there, tell me about it? Maybe we can put them on the Avengers payroll or something.”

_ __ _

Clint tried to picture Jessica Jones and Cap working together. Nope, not happening. “Will do,” he answered. He was a lying liar who lied.

_ __ _

“Cool! Oh, I got some new arrows for you, gimme a ring when you want to come and try them.”

_ __ _

New arrows sounded like fun times, no lie. “Tomorrow? Say, 4?”

_ __ _

“Tomorrow’s good. Ciao!”

_ __ _

Hey, something to look forward to.

_ __ _

_ __ _

Evening came and with it, exploration time. Clint hoped to find something about this Vanessa Fisk. He probably shouldn’t do any B&E but maybe there was a chatty, bored security guard around? How many pies did she have her fingers in, what was her play? And who was after her? If people were starting to be caught in the crossfire… Sure, it wasn’t his neighborhood, but he still didn’t want it to turn into a crime war zone. _That_ could definitely spill into Bed-Stuy, and they’d just gotten rid of the tracksuit Draculas. Clint wanted some peace and quiet, and this time he’d be proactive about it instead of waiting for shit to hit the fan. Kate would be so proud.

_ __ _

He took his bow and a quiver, stuffed them in a gym bag so that he wouldn't get too many stares on the C line, and checked his ankle holster. He was good with a knife too and there was no reason to be unprepared, right? His face was half-hidden under a hood just in case, but it’s not like people often recognized him, apart from his neighbors. As the subway car rattled along, he went through the problem again in his head.

_ __ _

Who would go after the Fisks? Talk about a power couple, though. He was known as the Kingpin, and Clint had heard that name before. His influence went far and deep; he was known for playing his enemies well, and his allies were allies only as long as it served his interests. He made it worth their while, it was said. There _was_ someone who was out for Fisk’s blood, but those the Kingpin had gone after were either dead or in prison. Except – aw, shit.

_ __ _

Except for Daredevil. Clint brought up the articles he’d found on his phone. Yes, _two_ Daredevils. One had initially worked for Fisk, the other had been the original one who’d been AWOL for several months before that, and even then his last appearance had been after another hiatus. He’d have to ask about that. There had been ninjas, Clint remembered. He hated ninjas. Oh, and a collapsed building; that giant crater that Rand had covered up very quickly even though it hadn’t belonged to him. Tony had been mad he could never get his hands on it, too. It had been the last time Original DD had worn the red horned suit, after that it had been Murderous DD.

_ __ _

But while DD The First’s identity was still unknown, the other one shouldn’t have been… but was kept hidden. He couldn't find a trace of it anywhere. Sure, Clint could ask S.H.I.E.L.D., Tony, or even Nat, but that would be cheating. He was going to find out by himself, like a legit investigator who investigated. He didn’t need no hacking or spying people to make his job easier, because he was going to be awesome all on his lonesome.

_ __ _

He was going to be an _amazing_ PI.

_ __ _

_ __ _

Once he was a block away from Mrs. Kingpin’s art gallery, Clint could spot her guard dogs. He tugged his sleeves down so his arm guard and leather gloves wouldn’t be too obvious, pulled his hood further down over his face, and let his gym bag swing into the legs of Square Dude standing near the gallery entrance. Man, that guy was built like the Hulk.

_ __ _

“Hey, sorry!” Clint made a show of fumbling his bag and looked through the glass door behind Square Dude. “Swanky place.”

_ __ _

“Art gallery. Not open at night.”

_ __ _

“What kind of art? Must be expensive, right? If you’re here and all.”

_ __ _

Not-Hulk looked down his (several times broken) nose at him. He was doing a pretty good job at oozing silent menace, really.

_ __ _

Clint wouldn’t get anything from him. Better play it safe, yeah? “I’ll just be on my way!”

_ __ _

Shit, so security were real professionals; Clint wouldn’t be able to get much from them the nice way. Odds he could break in, get into whatever it was they were guarding, _and_ escape in one piece didn’t look too good either, but maybe a well-placed camera or mic… Tony had promised him a new kind of stealth arrows that would disintegrate when he hit a switch on his quiver, only leaving whatever they had been carrying intact. Not so many people used a bow these days, so it would help make his work less recognizable. Hopefully he’d get those tomorrow and could come back soon. Right now, he could map out the building, see where he wanted those arrows to land, and try and find the best vantage point from where he could get his surveillance equipment in.

_ __ _

Clint strolled around the block, checked some alleys around the gallery, and finally climbed on the roof that seemed like the best bet for a good line of sight into interesting rooms. It did give him eyes on offices, but even better: the light was on in a couple of them, and he could see the backs of some people in there. If only they could turn around and show him their faces he –

_ __ _

“What the fuck?” Clint gritted out while peeling himself from the dirty concrete.

_ __ _

“Were you planning on getting shot?” Hey, that was Daredevil. “What are you doing here anyway?”

_ __ _

“What are _you_ doing here? And no one’s going to shoot me! _You’re_ the one who’s just slammed my head on concrete!”

_ __ _

“Your head’s fine.” Yeah, okay, Clint hadn’t really hit it, but still! “There are a couple guards on their building, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn't take well to anyone spying on Vanessa Fisk.”

_ __ _

“Looked around and no one can see us. Trust me, I’ve got pretty good eyes.”

_ __ _

“Yeah, well. I’m telling you they’re there.”

_ __ _

Clint shifted so he was sitting with his back against a chimney stack. “Fine. Since you’ve got such great sight, can you see who’s in those offices?”

_ __ _

“Nope, sorry.” Sounded like he was laughing at him. Why was Daredevil laughing at him? The guy was wearing _pajamas_, for fuck’s sake. “You shouldn’t be here.”

_ __ _

“I totally should; yesterday was the second time I’m somehow mixed up with this Fisk business. I took down a Russian mob last year; I’m good at this!” Okay so it was maybe putting a somewhat exaggeratedly positive spin on this, but hey. If he wanted to build his cred as an investigator for his future job he needed to sell it good, right?

_ __ _

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

_ __ _

“Okay, well enlighten me. I’m not a total noob, you know.”

_ __ _

PJ Batman sighed. “I do know, _Hawkeye_, but… if I’m right, the person who’s after Fisk is also after me. Your being around will just make you collateral damage.”

_ __ _

“Uh, is this about the last time you helped arrest Fisk?”

_ __ _

Whoa, the man’s grip on his arm was strong. Clint could feel his intense look even through the mask he was wearing, Jesus. “What do you know about that?”

_ __ _

“Hey, relax. Just stuff I read on the Internet, you know? Like, there was this guy wearing your suit that got arrested? That got his back broken?”

_ __ _

DD finally released Clint’s arm and leaned back. “Might have gotten it fixed. I know there’s experimental stuff done on volunteers who are ready to risk everything to get rid of a disability, I’ve – I’ve heard about it.”

_ __ _

“That’s who you think is behind all this?”

_ __ _

“I’m not sure yet, but if he is it’s bad news. And then there’s whoever is behind it all.”

_ __ _

“Okay. What can you tell me about this guy, for a start?”

_ __ _

“He’s dangerous.”

_ __ _

“You said that already, dude.”

_ __ _

“I’m not sure you understood the first time, given you're still here.”

_ __ _

“Look, I know I’m not Cap or Iron Man or Thor, but I’m not entirely useless, all right?”

_ __ _

“It’s just…” Daredevil kind of deflated. “This thing between Fisk and me and this guy… Too many people have been hurt or killed.”

_ __ _

Yeah, Clint got it. You couldn’t always save everyone, and sometimes people died just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I could help.”

_ __ _

“I really don’t want to be the cause of _Avenger Shot Dead_ headlines.”

_ __ _

“Oh ye of little faith.” Daredevil snickered. “What?”

_ __ _

“I’m Catholic.”

_ __ _

“Oh ye of too much faith?”

_ __ _

Hey, so Double D could, in fact, loosen up. Good to know. “Yeah, I can think of some people who would agree.” He crossed his legs and idly fiddled with the knotted ropes on his arms.

_ __ _

“Why do you wear ropes around your hands?”

_ __ _

“It’s a Muay Thai thing. I can hit harder with them.”

_ __ _

“What about gloves? You had gloves before, right? And that guy who was wearing your old suit had them.”

_ __ _

“Hm. Armored gloves. I’m not wearing that suit again, though.”

_ __ _

Yeah, okay. Clint could understand starting anew. “But you’ve gone from, what, Kevlar? to cargo pants and a sweatshirt. That’s a serious downgrade.”

_ __ _

“And what are _you_ wearing? Iron Man’s suit?”

_ __ _

“Hey – mf!”

_ __ _

Clint stopped trying to speak when a bunch of coarse ropes covered his mouth. They felt rough and hard and a bit frayed, and he tried not to think too much about how dirty they probably were. He nodded to show he understood, and Daredevil took his hand away. His head was tilted to the side and twitched every few seconds, his mouth half-open; he seemed focused on something far away. Then he seemed to forget Clint was even there as he turned away and headed for the roof access door a few feet to their right.

_ __ _

Clint caught up to him right inside the stairway and slammed him against the wall.

_ __ _

“Seriously?”

_ __ _

“He’s here,” Cargo Pants Batman said. “He’s a couple buildings over. There’s something different about him but – yeah, it’s him.”

_ __ _

“Okay, and what am I, chopped liver?”

_ __ _

“You can’t come near him.”

_ __ _

“Yeah, yeah, dangerous, I remember.” Not that he would necessarily follow that advice, but he did listen. “So?”

_ __ _

“Stay away.” Clint put a little more pressure on Daredevil’s chest. Now their faces were so close, Clint could see his not-quite fully healed split lip. Well, there was probably worse under the clothes and mask. “You can’t let him see you; he’d go after you too. You and yours.”

_ __ _

“And what are _you_ going to do?”

_ __ _

“He’s got a rifle gun, I think. He’s going to try and shoot the people inside. They should be arrested and have a trial, not be executed. I’m going to stop him.”

_ __ _

“What? You’re saying the guy’s got guns and you’re going after him with no armor, no back-up, no nothing?”

_ __ _

“I’ve been doing this for a while. Let go of me. Now.”

_ __ _

Clint didn’t doubt the guy could get out of the hold if he wanted to, but he chose not to hurt Clint. Time for compromise, maybe. “Teamwork?” He released Daredevil.

_ __ _

“I told you – ”

_ __ _

“Look, I can stay away, no problem. But I can also shoot him from pretty far away. So you're not going in without backup, and he won’t see my face.”

_ __ _

“How many people use arrows, Hawkeye?”

_ __ _

“Well, first of all there are _two_ Hawkeyes.”

_ __ _

Daredevil sighed. “Fine. Stay up here and keep an eye on the second building going east.” And with that he darted down the stairs.

_ __ _

Clint went back outside and got his gear out of the gym bag; by the time he was ready to shoot he could see Daredevil striding on the roof towards… wow, the guy had good eyes, maybe even better than Clint’s, and all that with wool over his eyes. He was striding towards someone stretched out behind a ledge, and the only clue was a tiny hole in the brick from where the muzzle of a sniper rifle was poking out.

_ __ _

The other guy jumped to his feet when Daredevil arrived, and whoa, it was brutal. Clint aimed but never released his arrow; with the distance and how fast and unpredictably they were moving, he couldn’t guarantee he’d hit the right person. The right spot he’d aimed at, yes; but he couldn't tell who would be there when the arrow hit. Clint only had plain arrows with him, not the fancy ones that could bounce off a target. But then his gut froze. The other guy landed a vicious kick right where Clint remembered Daredevil had been bleeding yesterday, and he watched him stagger for a moment. Clint couldn’t do anything, Mr. Catholic Devil was right between his arrow and the guy he wanted to put it in. He didn’t want to turn him into Saint Sebastian.

_ __ _

Those few seconds were long enough for their sniper to take something from his belt – some thing_s_ plural, in fact, and start throwing them at Daredevil. He dodged most of them, but – shit, knives; a few found their target too. They were too far for Clint’s hearing aids to catch anything reliably, and Muay Thai Jesus was still right between – crap, was he doing it _on purpose_? He knew Clint was there, right? The idiot!

_ __ _

Clint dropped his bow and took a running leap to the next roof over; too bad if he was seen. No time for stealth; _someone_ had engaged a skilled fighter on his own while having an injury that should have made him more careful than that. He thought the Kate that lived in his head cleared her throat, but he ignored her for now. He slid down a gutter pipe, monkeyed up a rusty fire escape that was more hazard than safety feature, and finally found Daredevil alone on the roof, panting and holding a hand to his side.

_ __ _

“You shouldn’t have come.”

_ __ _

“You were getting your ass kicked, man.”

_ __ _

“He’s, uh. Better than he was.”

_ __ _

“And you were already injured.”

_ __ _

“Don’t tell me you’ve never fought with a wound before.”

_ __ _

“Well I try not to, you know?”

_ __ _

“It’s my fault. I knew he’d be different, but I didn’t imagine he’d be _that_ different. Stronger.” He tried to rub his face then seemed to remember he was wearing a mask. “I’ll be better prepared next time.”

_ __ _

“Maybe wait to heal a bit before that, tough guy? Hey, your face is bleeding too.”

_ __ _

“Split eyebrow, no big deal.” Daredevil stood up.

_ __ _

“Need a hand to stitch you up?”

_ __ _

“I’m good. Go home, Barton.”

_ __ _

“Hey, that’s not fair; I don’t know your name… Aw, Devil, no,” Clint said to no one. Because of course, the guy bleeding from several places had jumped down from the roof instead of letting Clint finish his sentence. Rude.

_ __ _

He could have followed; the rattling of the fire escape gave him enough to go on by, but he let the guy have his secrets. For now.

_ __ _

_ __ _

The next morning, after imbibing enough caffeine to jump-start his brain cells, Clint tried to think about what he was going to do next. Call Goth Snow White? She’d be pissed he’d gone looking for intel, but then again she was probably always pissed. Talk to Nelson and Murdock? They wouldn’t be too happy with him either, and AcroBatman was in touch with them anyway. Clint didn’t have any edge, really. Nothing he and only he could contribute.

_ __ _

He looked down into Lucky’s one hopeful eye.

_ __ _

“Right, buddy. It’s just you and me and some sticks, then.”

_ __ _

Clint was, after all, a responsible dog owner who took Lucky on regular walks – as long as he wasn’t on an Avengers mission, too banged up to get out, or stuck in a hospital. The temperatures were mild, the park wasn’t crowded, and Clint thought maybe they should do this more often. He was pretty sure Lucky would be on board with that.

_ __ _

Of course, that’s when Ms. Leather and Attitude made her entrance. One minute it was just Lucky and him, the next she was walking to him like she wanted to stomp the tarmac into submission.

_ __ _

“Barton,” she said.

_ __ _

“Yup, that’s me.”

_ __ _

“Cute. Heard you did what you were supposed not to do last night.”

_ __ _

“Didja?” Clint crouched and got into a little tug of war with Lucky. How did pizza dog think Clint could throw the stick with Lucky still attached to it was a mystery.

_ __ _

“Found your rooftop buddy bleeding all over my corner bodega while some jerk tried to leave with whatever cash there was. Just wanted to buy some booze, and of course he had to ruin my evening.”

_ __ _

“Your evening of booze?” There, he won. Clint threw the stick and watched Lucky run after it.

_ __ _

“I’m not asking for your opinion.”

_ __ _

Clint raised his hands. “No opinion, I swear. I usually have the TV on for company though, if it’s one of those evenings.”

_ __ _

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

_ __ _

Pot and kettle, lady. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first to say so.”

_ __ _

“I believe it.” She looked around. “Any quiet place to talk round here?”

_ __ _

“Here not good enough?”

_ __ _

She jerked her head to the bench a few feet away, where a random guy was talking on the phone. “I don’t trust anyone.”

_ __ _

Clint whistled. “I can see that. Right then, home it is.” Aw, dog. Lucky looked all sad they were already leaving. “Yeah, me too, buddy. Me too.”

_ __ _

But as they got closer to his building, there found more and more possibly-suspicious dudes reading newspapers, sipping coffees, and even once chilling in a car like they did on TV.

_ __ _

“This isn’t good,” Jones said. “They’re watching you. Change of plans, we’re going to the lawyers.”

_ __ _

“What lawyers?” She looked at him like he was stupid on purpose. “Nelson and Murdock? What makes you think they’re not watched, too?”

_ __ _

“They’ve got… ways. To know.”

_ __ _

“I’ve been to their office, doesn’t look like they’re making enough money to pay for that kind of security.”

_ __ _

“Whatever. They’ve got ways, is all.”

_ __ _

Clint sighed, left Lucky at home, and they turned around to get on the subway.

_ __ _

“Shit, I’m not even wearing decent attorney-seeing clothes.”

_ __ _

“Don’t think they care, Barton. Especially the blind one.”

_ __ _

“Yeah, well.” Clint stared down at his frayed jeans with paw-shaped dirt marks. “Still.”

_ __ _

Look, he wasn’t trying to look like a hobo _all_ the time, okay?

_ __ _

And she may have been right about the lawyers, but Ms. Blue Eyes was definitely judging him when they entered the office.

_ __ _

“Hi Jess,” she said. “They’re in there,” she added while pointing at the room on the left where he’d first met Nelson and Murdock.

_ __ _

Jones jerked her head in what could have been a greeting, and strode in there like she owned the place. Clint made it a point of honor to casually stroll in after her.

_ __ _

“Clint!” Foggy Nelson was the nice one, definitely, although Late-For-Court Murdock wasn’t even there.

_ __ _

“Foggy. Partner not here?”

_ __ _

“I think he stayed home today, he was already under the weather yesterday. Good for him to take some time off!” Okay, the tone was definitely over-cheery, but he was probably trying to compensate for his missing buddy.

_ __ _

“I got stuff to do other than being a messenger girl,” Jones said. “Shit went down last night. Met Daredevil. He told me who the new guy is. It’s someone you already know.”

_ __ _

Foggy sat down and gestured at them to follow, but only Clint did. Jones only crossed her arms. “So, who is it?”

_ __ _

“Poindexter. Calling card Bullseye, now. He’s actually for hire under that name, to kill whoever you pay him to. But he’s on a mission to destroy all things Fisk, and whoever and whatever stands in his way.”

_ __ _

Poindexter? Bullseye? Clint had never heard those names.

_ __ _

But Foggy definitely had. “Wait. I thought he was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his days?”

_ __ _

“Looks like he got better.”

_ __ _

“Hey,” Clint said. “Is that the fake Daredevil that got his back broken by the Kingpin?”

_ __ _

“Yeah. Never met him, but hear he’s terrific at throwing stuff.”

_ __ _

“He is,” Foggy said. “Also terrifying. Usually there’s someone pulling his strings, too. Clint, did you see him yesterday?”

_ __ _

“Only from another building. Daredevil engaged him though, and that guy planted some blades in him.”

_ __ _

Foggy paled. “Oh shit, no wonder – I’ll give him a call.” They must be more than acquaintances, if it affected him that much.

_ __ _

“I’m sure he’s fine.” And hey, there was Murdock leaning on the wall.

_ __ _

“Wow, what happened to you?” Clint blurted out. Smooth. Okay, the guy’s face was gray, he had a busted eyebrow and a bruise was blooming on his jaw, but still.

_ __ _

“Walked into a door.” Which totally explained why his knuckles looked puffy, too. “You know, I don’t see them too well.”

_ __ _

“Matt…” Foggy looked ready to go on a rant, but Murdock stopped him with a raised hand.

_ __ _

“I’m fine, I swear.”

_ __ _

He left the wall to take a seat without using his cane at all to navigate around, and his jacket lapel flapped open just enough that Clint could see a tiny splotch of blood on his otherwise white shirt. The bloodstain was very suspiciously placed, but it was only when he focused on Murdock’s mouth that he knew for sure. The same curve, the same cupid’s bow, the same fading scar from a busted lip.

_ __ _

Murdock _was_ Daredevil.

_ __ _

_ __ _


	3. Chapter 3

Clint didn’t say anything about it while they shared what they knew about this Poindexter fella or when they wrapped up their meeting. Once they were done, Jones left without a word and Foggy fussed over his partner, telling him to go back home and rest while they walked Clint to the door.

“I can walk him to his place,” Clint said. He turned to Murdock. “Make sure you get there without fainting or anything.”

“I’m blind, but my legs work fine.”

“Go with the nice Avenger,” Ms. Blue Eyes said from her desk. “We don’t need you here.”

“Ouch.”

But however much he complained, he lost the fight; and Clint was about to show how good at the PI thing he could be and wow Daredevil with his deductive skills.

It didn’t quite turn out that way, of course. Story of his life, really.

Murdock attacked first with an angry-sounding, “Anything on your mind, Hawkeye?”

“Well yeah, actually. You’re him, right?”

That stopped him right in his tracks. “I’m who?”

“Daredevil.”

You had to hand it to him, he faked surprise well. A tilt of his head, raised eyebrows, his mouth working around silent words. “I’m blind,” he finally said.

“I’m deaf.”

More face twitching. “How did you come to this frankly outlandish theory?”

“Well, you –”

“Not here. Lead me,” and Murdock clamped his hand like a vise around Clint’s triceps and proceeded to, in fact, lead Clint.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” A pause. “I won’t.”

“Okay, is this your thing? The blind jokes?”

Murdock’s lips curled up a tiny bit. “Don’t like them?”

“Disability jokes make people uncomfortable, in my experience.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Clint thought about it. “Nah,” he said.

“Good.”

They didn’t say anything else until they reached a slightly rundown low-rise, and Murdock marched them up the stairs and to a somewhat battered door. There were signs of forced entry around it, although the lock looked recent. Or rather, it explained why the lock looked like the only newish thing around.

“Okay, I guess this is your place?”

“Yes. Better place to talk than the middle of the street.” He went straight to the kitchen. “Beer? Coffee?”

“Uh. Whatever you’re having?” It was beer. Clint was pretty sure morning beer wasn’t considered a sign of things going well but hey, free beer. No complaints. He took the bottle that was handed to him, twisted the cap off, and went to perch on the sofa’s backrest.

“So. Why do you think I’m Daredevil?”

“Please. I got really good eyes, you know?”

“Daredevil wears a mask.”

“Doesn’t cover all his face, and incidentally covers his eyes. Jumping from building to building in low light would be challenging to anyone relying on their sight, but it doesn't seem to slow him, _you_, down. Plus yesterday I saw you roll away from getting stabbed in the back and unless you got eyes on the back of your head, you’re just not using sight.”

“Or maybe you’re terrible at hand to hand and can’t wrap your mind around proper situational awareness. _Zanshin_.”

“Oh, ha ha. Also, you’re bleeding and bruised right where he was yesterday.”

“Walked into a door.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Clint threw the bottle cap at that smug face, and Mr. I Am Not Daredevil caught it neatly. “If you tell me it was a lucky catch I’m going to scream.”

Murdock winced. “Please don’t.”

“Headache?”

“Everywhere ache.”

“Those fucking doors, eh?”

“Oh shut up, Barton.”

“Clint.”

“Clint.” Murdock drained his own beer, put his bottle and the cap on the counter he was leaning against, and held out his hand. “Matt.”

“And?”

“And Daredevil, yes, fine, you got me.” Clint grinned. See? He was awesome at deduction. Hawkeye the second, watch out! Competition was here. “Clint, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Tell who what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Well, I’m deaf.”

Matt’s face did something complicated. “Is this how I come across?”

“What, like an asshole?”

“I hate you.”

“That's the spirit. So hey, not to sound ableist or anything, but you do have a bloodstain on your shirt. Need anyone to, like, look at your wound?”

“Can’t see it, but I can smell it. Think I popped a couple stitches.”

“Want me to redo them?”

“I’m fine. I’ll deal with it later.”

“Let me rephrase that: do you want your partner to be disappointed in you because you didn’t take the opportunity to get stitched up by a handsome and competent Avenger?”

Matt laughed. “You got any flaw, Avenger?”

“Yep. I’m a bit dumb.”

“As long as you’re dumb when it matters…”

Clint mimed zipping his mouth shut, then remembered Matt was blind, then that Matt was also Daredevil and maybe he’d actually sensed him doing that… should he narrate like he’d seen Foggy and Ms. Blue Eyes do around Matt? Except maybe they didn't do it when no one else was around, and –

“Your heart rate spiked. You’re, I think, embarrassed; you’ve just gestured in front of your mouth – maybe miming turning a key or zipping it up? Then you remembered I’m blind. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Clint said faintly. The guy could hear his _heart_? “I just – should I say it? When I do it?”

“I generally can sense it, but if people are around…”

“Okay. Keeping up the pretense, I get it.” He nodded, opened his mouth to say he did, then closed it. Matt smirked. Clint sighed. “Okay, so about those stitches. Where’s your first aid kit?”

And so they ended both on the couch, Matt lying on a towel with his shirt off and Clint carefully closing the still seeping wound.

“Dude, some of those scars look pretty nasty.”

“Nasty?”

“Yeah, like – oh, not like they don’t look good! I mean, they don't look good. But you do! Promise!” Clint’s foot, meet Clint’s mouth. “Not like that! I’m not coming on to you! I’m stabbing you with a needle; that’s not the right moment for that! Ha ha. Um. I’ll just shut up now.” Matt’s stomach was twitching now, because of course the guy was laughing at him. It made stitches harder to do.

“I got badly injured a few times, yeah.” Matt’s hand got out from under his head and hovered over Clint’s skull. “May I?”

“Er, sure.”

Fingers slipped into his hair, around his neck, his shoulder, then his ribcage. As soon as Clint had tied up the last knot, Matt’s hand was on his wrist, his forearms, his fingers. It was… weird. Not bad, but weird.

“You have plenty of scars, too.”

“You can feel them? Through my clothes?”

“Yeah. And I can feel old breaks sometimes, if the bone grew a bit thicker or is slightly misaligned.”

“I’m misaligned?”

“Just a little.” Matt tapped a rib lightly.

“Oh, good.”

“I’m sure you’re pretty anyway.”

“Oh great, validation from the blind guy.”

“Doing my best, Hawkeye.”

Clint taped fresh gauze over the wound and admired his handiwork. Much easier than when doing it on himself. “Hey, you got super hearing, right?”

“Hm. Just enhanced.”

“_Just enhanced_, sure. So, if I were to whisper a couple buildings over, would you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. Must be useful, when working with a team.”

“I don’t do teams.”

“Okay, no teams.”

Matt sat up. “I’m thinking…” he said. “Do you read lips?”

“Yeah. I’m not super good at it, though.”

“Could you see me, a couple buildings over? Understand me?”

“Probably, but it would be easier if you signed.” Clint stood up and mock-punched Matt. “Not that it’s relevant, if you’re not into teamwork.”

“Tried it, didn’t end well. But know thy enemy and all that.”

“Enemy? Okay, not working together, fine; but _enemy_?”

“You’ve just stuck sharp pointy things into my gut.”

“See if I ever do it again.”

“No risk of _that_.” Ugh, yes, fine, bad word choice. “But… could you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“Signing. Just in case. At least some basics, you know?”

Clint considered it. Matt was blind, and that could make things challenging; but… fine, okay. He could do that. He had time before going to Tony’s to try and test those arrows, right?

The next week was a bit more quiet. It felt like the eye of the storm but hey, a break was good.

Matt had been told to stay home in the evenings or there would be Consequences and he was very unhappy about it, but Clint figured he should take that opportunity to hang out with the guy. He did some recon himself from time to time and he or Jones would drop by the Nelson & Murdock office when they learned something, but it was pretty quiet for now; no killing with improbable aiming skills involved to note. Right as Mrs. Fisk was gone on a business trip, too.

Well, drug deals and illegal gambling and muggings were still going strong, but the NYPD did their best, and other vigilantes that totally weren’t Daredevil’s buddies were somehow more active in the Kitchen. Matt refused to say anything about it, although one evening as they were competing over who could juggle with the most balls (Clint refused to let anyone else win; he’d grown up _a carnie_. It was a matter of honor.) Matt caught all the balls, tilted his head, frowned, then let them all fall to sprint to his roof door. Clint tackled him to the floor and sat on him until Matt’s body finally relaxed.

“So,” Clint said.

“Yeah.”

“Happens often?”

Matt sighed. “I just – I hear it all the time. People screaming for help, the click of a gun safety, someone choking on their food… I hear the sirens. I hear the sirens all the time.”

Damn, that must suck. “It’s just too much sometimes?”

“Can’t turn it off.” Matt wriggled, but Clint wouldn’t budge until he was sure there would be no other bids for escape. Not that Matt couldn't try and pull a Houdini; he was twisty and flexible like an eel, but so was Clint.

“You know, I take the aids out sometimes. Just to shut out the world. But you can’t do that.”

“No, not really. I’ve tried sound dampening ear plugs; they do make things less loud, but it’s… I hate it. Without my ears, I'm mostly blind. Ugh, that sounds stupid, right?”

Matt, it turned out, had a rather infectious laugh. _You’re fucked_, said the Kate-voice in his head. _Shut up_, Clint told it. But he didn’t move from Matt’s thighs, and rather enjoyed he wasn’t asked to move.

“Hey,” Clint said. “Why do you wear glasses? I mean, not all blind people do, right? Even those who are fully blind?”

“Don’t like them?”

“Nah, just wondering. I mean, the cane is enough of a tell when you’re out and about, right?”

“Well, two tells are better than one. But I’m told eyes that don’t quite focus can be disturbing to some people, so… It’s easier, I guess.”

“Who told you that?”

Matt linked his fingers behind his head. “In trauma recovery, they taught us how to navigate the world as it was for us, after. Making people around you aware was part of it, they said. I can fake it, I have before; but I can be caught out very easily.” He sort of shrugged, as well as one could while pinned on the floor. “Foggy’s seen me without pretty often, for instance, but I wouldn’t talk to a client or be in court without them.”

“Bad reactions?”

“Couple times.” He didn’t elaborate, but Clint imagined maybe a girlfriend, a teacher. People taken aback. But now his curiosity was tickled and he wanted to take them off, except it was probably kinda rude. “Go on, do it.”

“What?”

“Take them off. You want to. I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“You scared?”

“Fuck you,” Clint said. Shit, no, maybe not a thing to say when sitting on a guy, right? Ugh. Matt grinned, because he was an asshole; but Clint ignored that.

Okay, he had something to do anyway. He plucked the red glasses from Matt’s face, folded them carefully, and settled them by the wall. He had nice eyes, with almost imperceptible burn scars around them. Chemicals, he remembered.

“Not disturbed,” he said. “Still an asshole.”

“Aw.” But Matt was smiling, and after that he was comfortable leaving them off when they were hanging out. It also made his facial expressions much easier to read, and that was probably another reason why he kept them on in public. Clint’s Inner Kate kept whispering _So fucked_, but he’d always been good at ignoring her.

“Hey, Matt.”

“Hm?”

“Ever tried archery?”

The smile widened. “You’re on, Hawkeye.”

And that’s why, two days later, Clint found himself trying to peel a very enthusiastic Lucky from a surprisingly frozen Matt.

“You don’t like dogs?”

A twitch.

“I swear Lucky’s a good dog.”

“Ng.”

Clint pulled Lucky away from Matt. “What is it, then?”

Matt relaxed a little. “They’re just… unpredictable, I guess.”

“Okay. I’ll just take him to the neighbors’, right? Don’t want him to try and catch arrows, anyway.”

“He does that?”

“Eh, sometimes.”

Well, that was weird. People usually loved Lucky, but then again Matt hadn’t said he hated dogs. Maybe he was just uncomfortable around them? Once Lucky was with Simone’s kids, Clint set up a few targets around his apartment. Matt was following his movements very intently, presumably to spot where the targets were. Once he was done and he’d filled his belt quiver with plain arrows, Clint picked a beginner’s bow and his own, and handed Matt the former.

“Okay, so I’m going to show you how to position yourself first.”

Matt grinned, stole an arrow from Clint’s quiver, and sent it flying into the target in front of him. Wildly off-center, but still in there.

“Right. Fine, okay. Good. So not your first time, then?”

“No, but it’s been a while.”

Aw, what an _asshole_, but he had good form. “You didn’t say!”

“Well, I can’t ever be as good as you, can I?”

Alright, yes, flattery. Flattery could work. “Well, your aim isn’t as good as mine, no.”

“It’s just hard for me to sense your practice targets.”

“Because you can’t see them?”

“Because I can’t rely on their movement, heartbeat, temperature, or anything else. It’s just easier to sense warm, living, moving things. A piece of wood, it’s just… background noise, I guess. I know where you put them, so I can probably hit them.”

“Hmm.”

Matt smirked. “I can shoot your dog more easily than your targets.”

“You are not, _no one_ is shooting Lucky! Poor dog, he’s already a mess of scars.”

“What happened?”

Clint breathed out, centered himself and fired five arrows in quick succession. “Eh, that’s the story of how I found him, in fact.”

Matt picked another arrow, and hit a target right by Clint’s arrow. “I’m listening.”

“Hey, better aim on that one.”

“I followed the sound of your hit.”

“Neat. So, here’s the story of how Lucky and I met…”

They spent the morning shooting arrows, throwing knives, and generally having fun with pointy things. It turned out that Matt was indeed much better at hitting moving targets; when Clint got out the little target drones that Tony had made him, he never missed one. It also turned out that correcting Matt’s stance for a few trick throws made Clint really way too aware of the shoulders and the arms and also the muscles in his back and he’d already noticed the front and of course _that_ ass and oh shit, shit, _shit_. Matt seemed absolutely oblivious to Clint’s dismay, and Inner Kate was laughing at him.

He needed to do something, anything, before he truly embarrassed himself.

“Hey, want to get out for a while?”

Matt tilted his head. “Out? Out where?”

“I was thinking we could go to the park, give Lucky some exercise. Maybe take Simone’s kids with us, so they can play with him and you don’t have to deal with him too much.”

“It’s Saturday, there’s going to be a lot of people.”

“It’s a big park. What do you say?”

“Oh, well. Why not?”

So Matt put his glasses back on, they collected dog and kids, and to the park they went after Simone threw together a few sandwiches and thanked them for giving her a few quiet hours.

It was a bit jarring to see Matt play blind – well, regular blind – when you’d seen him free to be himself. Okay, having Matt holding his arm was good, but the way he pretended not to know where the kids were when playing hide and seek, the way he fumbled the stick they wanted him to throw for Lucky… that was weird. A bit sad, too.

“I don’t know where to aim, kids.”

“Left!”

Matt made to go for a clump of trees right by the side of the footpath. “There?”

“No, no! More in front of you!”

“There?”

“No!”

Clint was pretty sure Matt was doing it on purpose, aiming for trees and people and at one point a glasshouse, but it made the kids laugh and Matt didn’t seem to mind.

When the kids were tired and Lucky’s tongue was lolling out, Clint took them to the park’s little café and got sodas for the young ones, a bowl of water for Lucky and two iced coffees for Matt and himself. The sun was pleasantly warm on their faces, and he pulled out the sandwiches, pencils, and coloring books Simone had given them.

“Knock yourself out, kids. Uh, not literally, please.”

Clint watched them sit at a low table for children and tuck in their PB&J like the hungry little gremlins they were.

“I don’t think Simone made us the same sammiches as for the boys, but…”

“Hm. Pastrami, lettuce, pickles, and cheddar on rye bread, I think.”

“You – how do you know?”

“I smelled it as she was preparing them. Stuff that was quick to put together.”

“Nice. Here’s yours,” and Clint put one in front of Matt before unwrapping his.

“So it’s not only your hearing, then?” The sandwich was good in spite of the green bits.

“No. It’s, well, everything but the eyes.”

“Huh.” Clint thought about it for a minute as he munched and totally didn’t remove some lettuce. Who liked lettuce anyway? “So like, you smell… everything, too? Man, that must suck sometimes.”

Matt laughed, and Inner Kate cackled. Yes, fine, he was cute when he laughed, whatever, so was Clint. Right? _Right?_ “Yeah, sometimes things smell pretty bad. But it’s just information, to me; like when you see something you find ugly.”

“Sure, but I can look elsewhere.”

“Well, I’ve learned to filter things out; take the information and then focus on something else. It used to be – well. I’ve learned.”

“There’s a story there, right?”

“Yeah.”

They focused on their lunch for a while. Clint could understand not wanting to dwell too much on the past, and he suspected it wasn’t a happy story. He already knew about Matt growing up without a mom and his father being killed and, of course, the blind thing. Anything else could wait.

Sandwiches eaten, they sipped their coffees and Matt asked if they could practice signing a little, so they settled hands over hands while absolutely no one looked at them like they were a cute couple. No one at all.

**You’re blushing**, Matt signed. Well, he actually signed **You red face**, but it meant the same.

“How can you tell?” Clint signed as he spoke, to make sure he was understood.

**Warm**, and Matt’s hand touched his face and Clint was pretty sure his face got even warmer.

“That’s embarrassing!”

**Why?**

“Do you know every time people, uh.”

**Look at me? Warm at me?**

“Ugh, yes.”

**I do, but Foggy said it’s_…_** Matt’s fingers fluttered. “Intrusive?” **Too much. So I… silent.__**“Privacy?”

“Okay, yes. Look, you’re good-looking, that’s all.”

**Foggy almost…** “asked me out?” **when we met.**

“Oh so you’re used to it! Er, I guess that’s not making it better.”

Matt shrugged.** It’s okay.__**“Flattering?_” _**I…** “I’m not looking for anything now. I’m just… it never ends well. Just ask Foggy, you know? I don't want you to die, not even once.”

Okay so A/ what does he mean,_ not even once_? and B/ he hadn’t said he _wasn’t_ interested. That was good! No, bad. It was bad. Aw, hell. Clint was fucked. Well, not fucked, he was precisely not fucked, oh god, this was a disaster – and Matt was probably sensing his panic and – aw, _hell_.

They walked back to the building and delivered the kids back to their mom, who looked like she’d enjoyed her few hours of peace and quiet.

“Are you staying for tonight’s roof barbecue?” Simone asked Matt.

_Please say yes_, Clint thought. _No, please say no, I’m going to make an ass of myself, but – argh_.

“I’m sorry, I should head home. Work, you know?”

“Work?” Clint said.

“Work. Files to read, get ready for court on Monday, things like that.”

“Oh, that’s a shame!” Simone said. “Well, next time then? Don't you forget to invite him, Clint, okay?”

“Matt’s got a standing invitation, so whenever he can, right?”

“Right.”

Back in the apartment, Clint crossed his arms. “Work as in, you’re going out again tonight?”

“That too, yes.”

“Are you ready?” Seriously, Bullseye had kinda used him as a pincushion like, a week ago. Even if Matt played it like it was no big deal, it wasn’t great either.

But, of course, he had that itch in him. “I’ve taken too long of a break already.”

“Well, it was quiet, and you needed the time off.”

“It was self-indulgent of me.” Matt frowned. “And Vanessa Fisk is back in New York.”

“Aw. So I guess you’re expecting this Bullseye to come out tonight.” Matt nodded. “Need backup?”

“You’ve got your barbecue tonight.”

“Matt…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Falser words had never been spoken.


	4. Chapter 4

The barbecue wound down around one, and Clint had been careful with the beer so he’d be clear-headed. He helped with the cleanup and at two AM he was in a subway car, a few knives on his person but without his bow. He was pretty sure Matt had already been out and about for a couple hours at least, and while he was probably fine Clint still remembered how gray he’d been in the days after the fight with Bullseye, how carefully he’d moved. It hadn’t been that long ago.

The car rattled along until it reached the station closest to the art gallery, and Clint made his way to the building where Daredevil had found him last time. As he’d expected, lights were on in the offices; and he could see Vanessa Fisk sitting at a table with other people. Some of those people he recognized as mob bosses, some he’d never seen before, but he committed them all to memory.

Someone he couldn’t see anywhere was Bullseye. Or Matt, now he thought about it. Where could they be? Clint settled between the roof ledge and a chimney stack to watch without being seen, and waited.

And waited some more.

After about half an hour, Fisk & Co seemed to be wrapping it up at last. Damn, the woman looked badass, her smile cold and sharp as a knife; the other people in the room clearly answered to her. She left the room and disappeared from view, but right then a car with tinted glass drove up to the building and turned into a side street. Clint moved to follow it and a few minutes later, as he’d expected, Vanessa Fisk got out via a service door, climbed in the car, and left. Shit, now Clint had to follow the car and he was on foot. Hopefully she was going home, because he could at least find his way there even if he lost the car for a while.

But, right as he was turned away to go to the nearest fire escape, the building behind him went _boom_. The explosion threw him down flat on his stomach and his aids whined, crackled, and went silent. Shit. He crawled to the roof and watched the four middle floors that were on fire. A bunch of people ran out screaming or at least with their mouths wide open; he recognized some of the guys who’d been at the table with Mrs. Queenpin. Clint patted his cargo pants to find the pocket with his special Tony-made aids-cum-comms. Sure, he didn’t need to have the Avengers in his ears right now, but he’d just turn off the comm part. He took out his fizzled out ones, put in the new, and looked up to see someone staggering on the roof of the burning building. Who could be – why ask. He knew who that was.

Clint didn’t shout; he didn’t spot anyone around Matt right now but he watched like a hawk (hah) as Matt took a running leap to the next roof over, then the next, then went to a fire escape. Well, at least the explosion hadn’t taken _his_ hearing out. Clint could hear sirens not too far away, and he knew it was time he made himself scarce. Matt was probably going to Lady Fisk’s place too, since wherever she was Bullseye could probably be found nearby.

They could have a little city race, right?

Right.

Vanessa Fisk lived in a sleek glass-and-steel high-rise, and going inside wasn’t as easy as in older places in shabbier areas of Manhattan. Still, Clint managed; he hadn’t always been on the (mostly) straight and narrow after all. He found the service elevators, punched in her floor, and made sure the cameras didn’t see enough to identify him by pulling down his hood. 25, 26, 27… 30, finally.

As soon as the doors opened, he knew he was in the right place. On the other end of the corridor a door was ajar and a foot was sticking out: a security guard knocked out cold, the same Hulk-shaped one he remembered talking to at the door of the gallery two weeks ago.

Knife in hand, Clint pushed the door in a little; the guard was, in fact, very dead. Someone had slit his throat. He stepped in further. The apartment was dark, the only light coming in through the big floor to ceiling windows. It was lit by the city itself, enough to see there had been a fight here not long ago. Furniture was broken, a lopsided chandelier was still swinging… But there was no sound Clint could hear. He wondered why the neighbors hadn’t called the police yet; splintering that table must have made quite a noise, right? Unless they already were on their way. He could spot flashing blue and red lights coming closer to the building; he should finish his exploration here quick.

Someone snapped their fingers and Clint froze. Who was there? Another snap. He walked in the direction of the noise, and then – he saw him. Matt, on his knees in front of the bathroom, snapping his fingers really close to his ears and his breathing picking up. Panic. He was about to panic, Clint could see it.

“Hey,” Clint said. Matt didn’t react. “Hey, it’s me?” Matt didn’t – shit. Matt_ didn’t hear him_.

Clint put his knife back in its holster and rushed to him. Matt must have somehow sensed him; he jumped to his feet, punched the air and almost fell flat on his face. His balance was all shot too. What had _happened_? Okay, first, get him to understand he was safe. But how? There was a strange smell coming from the bathroom; maybe it was messing up Matt’s nose? Clint watched throw another wildly off-mark jab, caught his wrist, and used the momentum to bring them both down. He sat on Matt’s thighs just like he had a few days ago, hoping it would help Matt figure out who it was. It didn’t, so Clint pinned both wrists over Matt’s head with one hand and used the other to trace letters on his chest.

CLINT, he wrote. CLINT.

After a few seconds, he saw Matt’s lips shape his name.

YES

Matt shook his head and tugged on his arms, and Clint let him go.

“Clint?” He whispered. He sat up and held out his hands, and Clint wrapped his own around them. “Clint, I can’t hear, can’t smell. I’m really, I’m _blind_,” and he sounded terrified.

**We must leave__**_,_ Clint signed. **Police coming__**_._ Matt looked a little confused and his fingers tangled with Clint's and tightened. Yeah, not good, he needed simpler words. He tried again. **We go now**. Matt understood that; he nodded and finally stood up with Clint’s help. He was shaky and he was breathing too fast, but as long as he kept a hand on Clint he seemed to be able to sort out what was up and what was down, at least. Clint looked into the bathroom and saw a canister there, picked it up, and finally led them outside to the stairway.

Matt’s grip was tight on his arm and he kept his free hand in front of him and slightly to the side, like – fuck, like a blind man. Fuck fuck fuck. But he seemed to trust Clint and followed quietly, his breathing unsteady and his steps so painfully unsure. They weren’t very fast in the staircase; Clint didn’t want Matt to trip and fall. After a while though Matt seemed to grow more confident with the stairs and felt for the banister. When he found it, he curled both hands around it and stopped for a moment.

“Vibrations,” he finally whispered. “Someone’s coming up. Or down?”

Clint looked down twenty floors and yeah, he might not be able to hear them but he _could_ see them: police were coming up. He grabbed Matt’s wrist and tugged it away from the banister, ignoring how the muscles under his hands first tensed in surprise before relaxing. He led them onto the next landing and he listened to the officers coming past on the other side of the door, but when he made to open the door again Matt resisted his pull.

“More vibrations,” he said. He had a hand against the wall, and his head was slightly tilted to the side as he did when listening to something.

So, okay, fine, not this staircase. Maybe there would be another one? Clint looked around, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

“Clint?”

**No out**, he signed.

Matt’s lips parted as if to speak, but he didn’t. His fingers followed up Clint’s arm to his neck, his chest, then up to his face. His hand stayed there. “Are you wearing normal clothes?”

Clint nodded.

“What about me, if I take my mask and ropes off?”

Clint nodded again.

“Okay.” He tried to untie the ropes but lost his balance again as soon as he didn't touch Clint, then thankfully he found the wall and it seemed to help. Soon enough, they both looked like disheveled but totally regular guys, nothing to look at here, no sirree. Clint shoved the ropes in the landing’s trash chute and the mask into his pocket.

U DRUNK, he wrote on Matt’s palm. I CAB

Matt nodded and let Clint manhandle him – Matt’s arm over Clint’s shoulders, Clint’s arm around Matt’s waist, an into the elevator they went. When it jerked its arrival to the first floor Matt let his head fall forward to hide his eyes, and then it was show time.

“You there!”

“Hey, sir officer sir!” Clint added a little slur for effect. He was great at faking drunk. He was a _great_ actor, okay?

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m taking my buddy home, sir! Too much to drink, right Bob?” He jostled Matt a little and got a little groan in answer. _Thanks, buddy_. “I know, this looks bad, right?” He made a show of looking round. “Say, why’re y’all here?”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Hear anything suspicious tonight? In what apartment were you? Do you have ID?”

“Eh, no, Mr. officer; jus’ two buddies shooting the breeze with other buddies, you know?”

“What apartment?”

They weren’t going to make it out, Clint could see it in the policeman’s eyes: he didn’t believe them. Just then, Matt’s head fell on his shoulder, his entire body sagged and he whimpered a little. “Home,” he said.

Okay, Clint didn’t know if he was faking it or not, but _Clint’s heart_ was not faking the way it started beating double-time. “Look, we’re just going to get a cab, all right?”

“You – ah, shit.” The officer held up a hand as he talked into his comm, and as soon as he turned away from them for a little privacy Clint pulled Matt forward. “Hey, _hey_!” The policeman caught up to them. “Look, seems we have bigger fish to fry right now. Give me your names and number, and come to the precinct tomorrow, all right?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “Francis Morse’s the name, and my phone – huh.” He made one on the spot and hoped it wasn’t one that he actually should have known, like Bobbi’s or Simone’s or Kate’s; he was pretty sure they’d have his hide if cops called them.

But finally, after some more fine acting on Matt’s part – did he really need to drag his feet like that? – they were outside and _not_ in handcuffs, so: win. Clint looked at Matt and decided the cab was, after all, a really good idea; so he pushed Matt down to sit on the curb and poked at his phone. He could get an Uber, right? Kate had said he should try that sometime.

Finally, just as the sun was rising, they were at Matt’s door. Clint felt for the key behind the radiator, unlocked the door, and that was it. They were safe.


	5. Chapter 5

“Home,” Matt whispered. He stood in the entrance, rocking a little on his feet and breathing deeply. Clint tried to lead him to the couch but Matt batted his hands away. “I’m fine.”

_No, buddy. You’re not fine at all_, Clint thought, but he let Matt walk to the couch, miss it, turn around, stop. He frowned, put out a hand in front of him, started again in another direction, bumped into the low table, and stopped. Again.

“I can’t see,” he said again, and he was looking more and more scared. “It came back before; I just need to meditate, right? Right.”

Clint walked closer, slapping his feet on the floor a bit harder than he usually would with each step. Vibrations, he remembered. Matt’s head turned in his direction, and he didn’t react when Clint took his hand then finally led him to the couch.

“You should go. I’m fine.”

Clint put Matt’s palm against his cheek and shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Matt wasn’t fine at all. He couldn't see any obvious wound apart from what would probably turn into a spectacular bruise on his cheek, but _something_ had happened to shut down his hearing. HURT HOW?

“It was him,” Matt said. “I got there too late; the guard was already dead. I could sense him, though. Poindexter. We fought; I didn’t block a blow. My mistake.” Matt pointed at his bruised face. “I was dazed for a second; he pushed me in the bathroom, threw something in and closed the door. It smelled terrible, felt like it burned my nose; then I… I don’t remember anything else. Not until I woke up, and then I couldn't hear, and… Clint,” he said. “Clint, what if it doesn’t come back?”

DID B4

“Yeah.” But he sounded less and less assured every time he said it, and Clint finally pushed him down to sit on the couch. Matt was shaking a little by then.

Shit, Clint couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost his own sight and ended up in dark silence, maybe forever. Well, he wasn’t entirely deaf, but Matt didn’t seem to hear anything at all for now. They could only hope it would come back. He kept a hand on Matt’s and took the small canister out of his pocket. Matt’s eyes were open wide, and his lips were parted. Tasting the air, Clint supposed.

“That’s it,” Matt said. “That smell, it’s what…” He tried to get away. “There’s another one here, we can’t stay!”

EMPTY

Clint put the canister in Matt’s palm, let him feel it before putting it away on the low table.

“You picked it up?”

4 TEST

“Oh.” Matt’s own hand turned into Clint’s and he squeezed it. “Thank you. You don't have to stay, really; I’ll be fine, meditate a bit. It will come back.” His voice was shaky. Was he aware of it?

Clint looked out the window. Behind the giant billboard, the little bit of sky he could see was lightening up. He didn’t want to leave, but he needed to drop the canister in Bruce’s lab, at least. Check on Lucky, get fresh clothes. He looked again at Matt. Maybe _bring_ a change of clothes and stay here for a few days if Matt’s hearing didn’t come back soon.

CALL FRIEND?

“Can’t really use my phone,” Matt said with a wry smile.

ILL CALL FOGGY U REST NOW

“I’ll just… meditate. Worked last time. I’ll be fine.” He was repeating that too often.

I STAY TIL FOGGY

“You don’t have to, I…”

AVENGERS INFIRMARY?

Matt blinked. “No. No, you can’t.”

I STAY

“Oh, fine.” He tried to look annoyed, but mostly he looked relieved. Clint wondered if that’s how his own friends felt around him, sometimes. They’d told him so often to stop pushing them away, to ask for help when he needed it. But it was hard, knowing you had to rely on other people. Knowing you were not enough, by yourself.

Matt took off his boots and stood up. He took a moment to orient himself then went to the window, trailed a finger on the glass until he found the brick wall, and finally sat on the floor. He looked like Bruce did when he was doing his Eastern wisdom thing. Except Matt didn’t have to work on cutting off the outside world, Clint supposed. Which sucked. He went to the kitchen to get a couple glasses and fill them with water and set one near Matt, then put an alarm on his phone so his watch buzzed to remind him not to sleep the day away. He messaged Foggy after that so he’d get the news as soon as he woke up. Not the greatest news, sure, but Clint figured he’d want to know. And now Clint could take a nap before he called Bruce, right?

Wrong.

Just as Dream Clint was happily hitting target after target while dangling from one leg hooked over a swinging trapeze, the couch lurched and he caught himself just before breaking his jaw on the table corner. It was Matt, trying to find his way around and hitting everything he could hit. He seemed to have forgotten Clint was even there, gulping air and mumbling words Clint couldn’t make out, even after putting his aids in. How could he calm him down?

“Hey, hey, man, no…” But of course, Matt wasn’t listening – he wasn’t _hearing_ anything. “Sorry, please don’t hit me?” he said, and Clint caught Matt with an arm around the waist and the other around his chest.

Of course, Matt immediately went into ninja mode and managed to throw Clint over his hip, but right as he was about to drive his elbow into Clint’s gut he stopped. “Clint?” He was breathing fast, too fast after a single throw.

“Yeah, it’s me. Aw, deaf, right.” He gripped Matt’s elbow and tugged a little until the arm unfolded and he could take Matt’s hand.

GOOD JUDO

“You hurt?”

NO U?

“I…” Matt’s chin trembled. “I can’t hear?”

“I know, buddy.” Shit. Clint sat up and wondered what to do with his hands. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what could help. MEDITA

Matt shook his head. “Not working. Can’t – not working.”

Okay. Fine then. SLEEP?

“Can’t.”

Right. But what else could he do? Sitting here on the floor wasn’t helping. Matt was looking more stubborn by the minute, angry and ready to take out his anger on anything or anyone. Clint was out of his depth here; he wasn’t no shrink, not even a good listener. He considered calling Kate or Nat for advice, but they’d probably tell him to man up and deal with it like they’d – well, like they’d dealt with _his_ moods.

FOOD? he tried. 

Matt shook his head, then finally stood up. Clint watched him take a few slow steps forward until he reached the kitchen counter, orient himself, turn around and go to the couch. His jaw was set and Clint knew enough about finding oneself suddenly… less, even if it was only for a while, to let him be. Slowly, hesitatingly, Matt made his way in fits and starts to a little bookshelf, picked up a couple of thick volumes, then back to the couch. He followed the back of the couch with his hand until he reached the end, walked around it, then finally settled himself on it and opened one of the books. It was, of course, written in Braille. Clint could not tell what it was, although he suspected.

Clint stomped to the other end of the couch and sat down himself.

“I’ll feel you walking around even you step normally,” Matt said. “Especially without shoes on.”

Fine. Clint tapped Matt’s arm and took the proffered hand. OK

“What time is it?”

He looked at his phone. 5AM

“Foggy will be here in a few hours. If you want to leave…” Clint shoved him hard. “Fine.” Matt’s tone was harsh but he also smiled a pleased little smile, and Clint knew he’d made the right choice not to leave.

“I came as soon as I got your message, how – uh.”

Startled awake, Clint flailed and barely managed to stay on the couch while Matt pushed himself up by planting an elbow in Clint’s stomach. The heavy book that had been precariously resting on his chest fell with a thump; Clint tried and failed to pick it up from the weird angle he was in, Matt made a surprised noise at the unexpected movement, and he would have fallen off the couch (and off Clint) if they hadn’t each grabbed the other as hard as possible. Ugh, he'd fallen asleep with the aids in.

And Foggy. Foggy was looking down at them, with a face that said _I want to yell at you and also laugh at you_.

“Um,” Clint said. Because he was good with words. “This is not what it looks like?” Matt tried to sit up and managed straddling Clint in a way that looked even more like what it looked like. Which it, in fact, it wasn’t. Well, it couldn't get worse, could it? He took Matt’s hand and wrote, FOGGY

“Oh.” Matt’s nostrils flared, then he turned his head in Foggy’s direction. “Hi, Fogs.”

“Hi, Matt. Why are you yelling?”

Matt, of course, didn’t answer.

“He’s still deaf. He can’t hear himself; he doesn't know he’s loud.”

Clint hadn’t really paid attention to Matt’s volume, Tony’s aids adjusted sounds to preserve what hearing he actually had left. He could tell someone was yelling because diction changed a bit, but Tony had made really fancy adjustments to his field equipment and it filtered a lot of stuff to make it easier for him to operate in potentially ear-splitting environments. Screaming, explosions, gunshots? He heard it all, just muffled. His regular aids didn’t do that, but they were dead. And Foggy didn’t have fancy hearing aids.

“Oh, shit.”

“Don't tell him he’s too loud, though. It’s, uh. He won’t take it well.” It tended to make people ashamed, and Clint had a feeling it would not go down well at all. It sure hadn’t, with him.

“Okay. Uh, the deaf thing. Is that why you’re writing on his hand?” Foggy moved forward and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. Matt covered it with his right away. “Hey, buddy,” Foggy said. “Not that you can hear me.”

“We’re not that good at touch signing yet, so yeah.”

“Right. Can I?” Foggy’s hand followed down Matt’s arm; Matt got what his partner wanted quickly and held out his hand.

HANG IN THERE, he printed out. WHERE IS UR BRAILLE RDR

“What for? It’s going to come back. Always had before.”

“What do you mean, always… Shit, yes, deaf.” FASTER

Matt scowled. “It’s at the office,” he said. Then he sighed. “Wait, no; my old one must be with the old school stuff.”

“Good.” ILL SET UP

Matt and Clint awkwardly untangled limbs to sit side by side on the couch while Foggy went into Matt’s room and came back with a somewhat dusty machine. He plugged things in, then finally typed a few words and put Matt’s fingers on the reader.

“There you go,” Foggy said.

Matt ran quick fingers on the machine. “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it, promise.”

Foggy winced at the loud words. “Sure you will. I know you, Murdock. Okay,” he said as he looked at Clint. “I’ll stay with him today, try and get him to see a doctor. Thanks for keeping him safe.”

“He didn’t want me to take him to our infirmary.”

“Very surprising. But I know he’s afraid scientists would poke and prod at him too much, so I get it. A little. I’ll let you know how it goes, all right?”

“Okay.” Clint showed him the canister. “He was gassed with that thing, that’s what’s messed him up. I’m taking it to Bruce for analysis; hopefully it’s a temporary thing or there’s an antidote.”

“Oh, good. I hope…”

Matt slammed his fist on the table. “I know you’re talking. I can’t hear you!”

“Ah, right.” Foggy typed a few words and put Matt’s hand on the reader.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, You should go, of course. I’m sorry for last night, Clint. Say hi to your dog for me?”

“You have a dog? I thought Matty didn’t like dogs.”

“He’ll be warming up to Lucky in no time, just you wait.” Clint knelt in front of Matt and took his hands. **OK**, he signed. **Back soon**. He tried to think of other things he wanted to say that he knew Matt would recognize if he signed them. **You safe. Well soon**. He turned his hands in Matt’s so he could squeeze them and stood up. “So I’ll just.” He pointed at the door and started walking backwards.

Foggy nodded at him, Clint slipped out of the door, and then he was outside in the early morning sun. He thought he’d be back in a few hours either to keep Matt company or to make new plans.

Turned out, he was wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint dropped the canister in Bruce’s lab on his way home, and he got a text mid-afternoon. `It targets specific sensory nerves, especially auditory. Some sort of paralysis? Not anything I’ve seen before. Don’t know if permanent or reversible yet. You ok?` Clint sighed. So nothing they didn’t already know, and no way to tell how long it would last. He refused to think it might be permanent.

He kept waiting for another message from Foggy, but nothing came up for days. He took Lucky out for walks, practiced some knife throwing, went to replace his regular aids, worked on his bow and arrows, looked up what he could find about deafblindness on his laptop; he got another message from Tony asking why he didn’t want Stark-issued aids for _all_ his needs and not only his Avenger-ing. Clint didn’t even answer those anymore; Tony was unable to understand some people didn’t want to depend on him for everything. He didn’t see it like that, of course; but Clint… Clint did.

After a day, and then another, had gone past, he tried to call Foggy, but he always got the voicemail. Until the evening of the third day, when Foggy called him.

“Hey, Clint.”

Shit, he sounded… defeated. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, well. Um.”

Clint put his mug back on the counter. “Should I come?”

“Can you?”

“Sure.”

“I should warn you, Matt is… he’s not any better, and he’s…”

“I get it.”

Pissed, terrified, and probably acting out. Yep, Clint could relate. “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, grabbed his getaway bag, left Lucky with Simone, and tried to remember what had helped him, when he’d been where Matt was now. Thing was, it wasn’t even the first time he was going through that kind of crap; but living it as a child and then as an adult… it was different, and in Matt’s case it was his worst nightmare coming true.

_Your turn to be the adult_, Inner Kate said. The people sitting in front of him on the subway car would probably take offense if he stuck his tongue out at her, but he really wanted to and he hoped Inner Kate knew it. And she was wrong, anyway; Matt wasn’t a child acting out. But Clint knew his kind: he saw it every day in the mirror.

Foggy opened the door when he knocked and wow, the guy looked ready to throw in the towel. Clint dropped his bag on the bench in the hallway and followed him. He looked around but nothing seemed surprising, except… no Matt. Huh.

“You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, Matt’s been… He’s starting to realize his hearing might not come back, and I don’t know what to do to help him.” Foggy opened the fridge. “Beer?”

“Sure.” Never say no to free beer, ever. “Where is he?”

“On the roof. I think he needs to pretend he’s alone for a while. He stayed in his bedroom all Sunday, then he was adamant we didn’t call you; so I spent the night here. Karen, Claire, Maggie and I took turns after that. You already know Karen, but maybe not the others?”

Clint took the beer Foggy was handing him and leaned against the back of the couch. “Nope.”

“Sister Maggie he knows from when he was a kid at the orphanage; she stayed here most of the day on Monday while I went to work. Claire’s a nurse friend of his; I called her so she could give him a checkup. I told her what you texted me your scientist friend found out, and she said there wasn’t much she could do either. She stayed with him on Monday night, then Karen was here Tuesday morning but…”

“What happened?”

“I forgot to warn her about how loud he gets sometimes and that she shouldn't mention it.” Ouch. “He’s refused to communicate with anyone since then, even with the computer. I was hoping…”

“You think he’ll speak with me?” No pressure, Clint thought. Nope, not at all.

“Well, yeah.”

“Because I’m deaf too.”

Foggy shrugged. “He seems to trust you.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

Foggy pointed to a boxy thing next to the laptop and Braille reader Clint remembered from last time. “Using his Braille printer so I can leave him messages. I’m not sure he reads them, though.”

Clint sighed. Probably not. Why him? Why did people trust him to do things? Where did they get the idea they could or even should? Seriously. “Okay. I guess you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he wants me around anyway. Plus I’ve got to try and keep our firm afloat while he, uh, recovers. He tried to work on Sunday, but relying only on the reader… it’s slower than he’s used to, and it made him even more frustrated.” He’d have to adapt if he _didn’t_ recover, but neither Foggy nor Clint mentioned it out loud. Not yet. “I’ve left a list of people you can call, and there’s food in the fridge. Give me a call in the morning? I think the Sister should be able to take over then so you get a break.”

“Eh, I’ll play it by ear.” Because deaf jokes were the best, right?

“You’ll play it – I get why he likes you.” Foggy smiled a little. “You’re both terrible. Right, I’ll be on my way, but if you need anything…” He mimed putting a phone to his ear before picking up a fancy leather briefcase, and he left.

Well. No time like the present, right? Clint took a few beer bottles from the fridge, threw the afghan from the couch over his shoulder, grabbed some crackers, and went up the stairs to the roof access door. It was already dark out but he easily spotted Matt and joined him, jostling his shoulder as he sat down. Unless Clint missed a twitch under the thick parka Matt was wearing, there was no reaction; he'd probably smelled him or something. Clint knocked a beer against Matt’s knuckles and smiled when fingers immediately wrapped around it; so he repeated the tactic with the crackers. Clint didn’t try to say anything, just sat there next to him, their knees touching, breathing the same air, drinking their beers and eating the crackers. When it got a bit cold, he unfolded the throw and wrapped it around their shoulders, and then he waited some more.

He was trained as a sniper, too. He could wait.

Finally, Matt stirred. His head turned a little in Clint’s direction, and then he moved his hand until it hit Clint’s thigh, then Clint's own hand.

FOGGY SENT U?

“Aw, you won’t even talk to me.” WANTED 2 COME

Matt shrugged. He started to write a letter in Clint’s palm, then stopped with a sigh. “It’s not coming back,” he finally said. He was keeping his voice low, just above whispering. “Am I too loud? Karen said I was.”

DONT LISTEN 2 HER

“Oh, ha ha.” But he smiled a little, so Clint counted it as a win.

COME IN

Matt shook his head.

PLS

No answer. “I’ve been there, man. Don’t know why anyone thinks I’m the one to help you, cause I really couldn’t help myself.” Okay then. BRING TRASH WHEN U DO

Clint put the empty crackers pack in Matt’s hand, picked up the bottles and left the roof. _Don’t treat him as fragile and incapable, but maybe don’t let him feel his way down the stairs with breakable glass in his hands,_ _yeah? _He hoped he was doing it right. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he toed off his shoes; better make himself comfortable if he was here to stay.

Okay, what now? Clint was tempted to make coffee, but the strong smell might keep Matt outside for even longer. He wanted him to come down, not hide out there for even longer. What should he _do_? Aw, man; he wasn’t cut out for this.

Thankfully, as he was standing there in the middle of the apartment like an idiot, the roof access door swung open. Matt was hesitant, slow, but steady enough; and once he’d touched the banister he seemed to get his bearings and he looked confident when he walked down the stairs. One hand on the wall, a sniff, then he put the empty pack in the bin. Well, good; he wasn’t lost in his own apartment, then.

“Clint?” He aimed his face roughly in the right direction. “You don’t have to stay.”

Oh, that again. They probably had to have a talk. COMPUTER?

Matt’s jaw clenched visibly even under the beard he had already grown, but then he sighed. “Fine.”

He sat in front of the computer, ran his hand over it until he found the power button, then did… things with his reader. Clint took the chair on the other side of the table and waited until Matt turned the laptop away from himself. The cursor was blinking, and he typed,

`Am I doing this right?`Matt still looked like he was waiting though, so he poked him. `Can you read me?`

Matt’s fingers slid over the reader. “Yeah, I can.”

Okay, they were on.`Impressive beard,` he started. Matt smiled. `Still not big enough to hide behind.` Not smiling anymore. `You said it’s not coming back. We should make plans.`

“For Poindexter?”

What? `For your future,` dude!

` `` `

“I’ll cope.”

` `` `

`By sulking on the roof?`

` `` `

Matt stood up and his chair fell behind him. “I don’t need – I can. I don’t need your pity!”

` `` `

He tried to stalk to his bedroom but walked straight into the couch, caught himself on its back, kicked it, then kicked it again, and after that looked ready to demolish everything. Clint caught his wrists before he slammed his fists into the table where the laptop was and wrestled Matt down until they were both panting on the floor, kneeling.

` `` `

WELL WORK IT OUT

` `` `

“I’m useless,” Matt whispered. Clint looked into his face, and saw how wet Matt’s eyes looked. Crying? Aw, what was he supposed to do? Clint was not any good at comfort, so he just kept holding Matt’s hands in his like an idiot. “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t. I can’t. I won’t!”

` `` `

QUITTER

` `` `

Matt shook his head, but didn’t say anything else. Clint felt so out of his depth; that was the point where people hugged in the shows Simone’s kids watched, but he didn’t think that would go down too well here. There were tears in Matt’s eyes, and what was a guy supposed to do then? What should _Clint_ do? Okay, what would he do if this were… not Barney, not Jess, not Cap, not Kate… Nat? Okay, _he_ was the mess, she wasn’t. What would she do? No, what would he _want_ her to do? Oh god, he was lost. He was absolutely lost. Clint moved his hands to the sides of Matt’s head and pulled it in so he could kiss his forehead, and hoped that was enough to say _I’m here, I’m not going away, and it’s okay if you cry._ That was what he ought to be going for, right? That and, ew, something else.

` `` `

U NEED SHOWER

` `` `

Matt sniffed, a little wetly. “Do I stink that much?”

` `` `

SHAVE 2 SO U LOOK ↘ HOBO ↗ LAWYER

` `` `

“Well, hobo’s right. I won’t be able to afford that apartment for much longer, if I can’t work.”

` `` `

THEN JUST WORK BUT SHAVE 1ST

` `` `

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He wiped his face, hunched a little more in his parka. “Shave, keep your job, keep your home. Fine.”

` `` `

Right, that was the spirit. Clint helped Matt up and led him to the bathroom, then went to the bedroom. The sheets were on the floor, the pillows had been thrown everywhere, and the bedside table had been knocked down. Huh, Foggy hadn't mentioned that. Clint set out to straighten the furniture, shoved the (silk!) sheets in the washing machine and put fresh (_silk!_) ones on the bed. That done, he wandered back into the main room, checked the contents of the fridge and cupboards, and finally lay down on the couch. What was he supposed to do now? He could still hear water in the bathroom. Matt must like long showers; it had been a while.

` `` `

A few minutes later, he checked the time again and, fine. It had been going on a bit too long by now. He went to knock on the bathroom door, swore, and tried to open the door. It hadn’t been locked, and he walked in. He’d expected steam everywhere, but there was none. There was, however, one Matt Murdock behind the plastic curtain, sitting under the frigid water pouring down from the shower head.

` `` `

“What the hell, man.” Clint patted one shoulder. “Hey.” Jesus, Matt looked like a drowned rat, but he wasn’t shivering. Which was or wasn’t worrying, who knew? Clint turned the water off and sat on the outside of the shower before taking Matt’s hand in his. WTF TRYING 2 DO

` `` `

Finally, Matt moved his head. “I can feel the cold, at least,” he said.

` `` `

Yeah, no shit. CAN FEEL HOT 2

` `` `

“Sure.”

` `` `

Well, that was helpful. Clint took the towel hanging on the peg by the shower and threw it at Matt’s head. Matt stood up and started to scrub himself dry, at first halfheartedly then with more and more vigor, until his skin had turned from blueish to angry red. Clint tore it off from Matt’s grip. Hurting himself to feel stuff, fine, it was fine, very healthy, totally normal. Clint was not equipped for this, but he didn’t think Matt was the kind to go to a doctor easily, right? Right. So they’d just… ignore it. Like the responsible guys they were. SHAVE?

` `` `

“Okay.” He sounded as happy about it as if Clint had suggested jumping out of the window. Wait, no, bad example; Matt would _love_ that. Point still stood though, right? Provided one understood the point he’d meant and not the point he’d made. Yes? Yes. Right. Good.

` `` `

FOOD AFTER?

` `` `

Matt shrugged, and after stepping out of the shower he put his hand on the sink, then felt his way to his razor. It was, in fact, an old-fashioned one with a big blade and okay, fine, Clint was staying to make sure he wouldn’t slit his throat by accident. Or not by accident. He leaned against the wall at his back and looked up when Matt spoke again, very pointedly not letting his eyes linger on the way up. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown the towel away.

` `` `

“I’m not going to cut myself,” he said. “If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just better. If I don’t have time for a real shave, I just let it grow.”

` `` `

STABBIER, Clint wrote on Matt’s ankle.

` `` `

“Not great for stabbing, actually.” Matt looked a bit silly with shaving cream all over his face. But normal, too. A regular guy doing a regular guy thing. “But sharper, yes.”

` `` `

HEM

` `` `

Matt smiled and the cream moved with it. Hah, silli_er_. “I’ll show you, if you want. Makes for a really, really close shave.” …right. Was that an invitation to, say, touch him? Touch his face? “You’d have baby-soft cheeks after I’m done with you.” An invitation to get a shave. From a blind guy armed with a very sharp razor blade. This was a very bad idea, right?

` `` `

Okay but Clint, in fact, _loved_ bad ideas.

` `` `

So Clint stayed there on the cold bathroom floor, watching Matt slide a death blade up his neck, his cheeks, his – yes, fine, he was ogling. He kept his hand wrapped around Matt’s ankle and didn’t think of going a little further up because he wasn’t that kind of guy, assaulting people in their bathrooms, yeah? Yeah.

` `` `

When he was done, Matt rinsed his face and knelt right by Clint. “Go on, touch my face.”

` `` `

What the hell, why not. Matt was blowing hot and cold, moping one minute and flirting the next. Right now, it was the hot flirting minute and, look, Clint was no saint. So he touched Matt’s face and yeah, it was really very smooth. And if his fingers lingered a little on Matt’s (smooth) lips when they parted, hey. No one was complaining. He reluctantly pulled his hand away after a moment, though, because making out on the bathroom floor wasn’t what Foggy had asked him to come for.

` `` `

HUNGRY?

` `` `

Matt’s smile widened.

` `` `

4 FOOD Fuck’s sake, man.

` `` `

“Maybe a little?”

` `` `

Okay, good. Clint could work with that. I COOK U DRESS

` `` `

No. Not a pout, jeez – okay, fine, pout away, Clint didn’t care. It wasn’t cute at all. Matt left the bathroom and Clint got a good long look at a really, really fine ass before hauling himself up and wondering if there was any dried ramen soup in this damned place.

` `` `

There wasn’t any ramen, but there was pasta and pasta sauce, and it would do.

` `` `

Once they’d eaten, Clint piled the dishes in the sink and they teamed up, Matt washing them so he didn’t have to move around too much and Clint cleaning up everything else.

` `` `

“So.” Clint touched his shoulder to show he was listening. “Earlier, you said… you called me a quitter.”

` `` `

UR NOT

` `` `

A corner of Matt’s mouth quirked up. “My dad used to say… I’d like to show you something.” He wiped his hands on a towel and went to the cupboard in the wall, opened it, and got a chest out. He lifted the lid and Clint saw black shirts, an old pair of combat boots, batons – the whole gear. Matt took it all out and then, under a protective cloth, Clint saw shiny red fabric and two boxing gloves, the leather old but well cared-for. “Those were my dad’s,” Matt said. “He was a boxer. Never stayed down, you know? He…” Matt’s voice had gone softer. “Um. He used to say, we Murdocks, we always get back up. We get knocked down a lot, but we get back up, you know? So, uh. You reminded me of that.”

` `` `

Well, good.

` `` `

Matt gently gathered robe and gloves and held them out. “You can touch them.”

` `` `

So Clint did. He took a glove and felt the leather, still supple after all these years; he slipped a hand inside just to see how it fit. The robe was blood red and the letters stitched in faded gold. _Battlin’ Jack Murdock_, they read.

` `` `

“He wore those for his last fight. He won. They shot him dead, but he won. I could hear how people cheered him. He didn’t do what they told him to do.”

` `` `

And the mob killed him for it. Clint knew the story. DIDNT STAY DOWN

` `` `

Matt smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile. “He died for it.”

` `` `

DONT BE A MARTYR

` `` `

That made Matt laugh. “A friend said something like that, once.” He took the robe and gloves from Clint and put them back in the chest, carefully running his fingers along the folds and covering it all with the thick cloth so his Daredevil gear wouldn’t damage his mementos. “So, uh. That’s what I have left from my dad.” He put the chest back in the cupboard and closed it. “I… do you want the bed?”

` `` `

Clint wondered where the others had slept. COUCH FINE

` `` `

“You all say that. Before I, uh.” Matt waved at the side of his head. “I could hear you; your joints, your bones. Your breaks.”

` `` `

IM NOT OLD

` `` `

The little shit grinned. “How old are you, Clint?”

` `` `

FUCK U

` `` `

“If you’d like.”

` `` `

“Jesus, Matt.” COUCH

` `` `

“Aw, way to make me feel better about myself.”

` `` `

NOT IN FRONT OF UR DAD

` `` `

“You’re killing the mood here.”

` `` `

UR NOT THINKING STR8

` `` `

“Definitely not straight.” Matt’s smile was predatory, and Clint felt like a rabbit. A tiny, fluffy, helpless rabbit.

` `` `

But a rabbit with ethics, okay? An ethical bunny. With floppy ears, Clint dug the floppy ears. GNITE

` `` `

He stepped away but Matt reached out blindly (hah) and stopped Clint with a hand on his chest. “I thought you wanted to.”

` `` `

“Okay, why do I have to be the one with common sense here? Seriously, why?” U DIDNT TIL DEAF Matt winced at the word. SORT URSELF OUT 1ST

` `` `

“I… You don’t want me as I am now, then.”

` `` `

Aw, no. But Clint had used sex before to escape… stuff, and it had never ended well. He didn’t want to see whatever was between Matt and him go sour. WHEN U SURE

` `` `

Matt sighed. “As you wish, then.” Clint hoped he wasn’t quoting Princess Bride at him – or maybe that he was, because it would be cool. “Bed stuff is under the couch, if you need anything.” He turned and walked to the bedroom, fingers trailing on the wall to help orient himself, giving a little wave when he reached the sliding door. “Night.”

` `` `

Clint waved to no one who could see it because he was an idiot, and turned to find himself a blanket for the night.

` `` `

He’d expected to find it hard to fall asleep what with the giant billboard, but once he’d taken off his aids and closed his eyes he went offline right away. What Clint _hadn’t_ expected was a blast of frigid air in the middle of the night, so he blinked, looked around, and saw that the roof access door was ajar. So there went his night, then. He put his aids in and checked the bedroom just in case, but of course it was empty. Right. Jeans, sneakers and hoodie before going up the steps and out into the cold, cold night.

` `` `

Matt was up there, of course; not-looking moodily at the city out in front of them. Clint sat next to him, jostling his shoulder on his way down.

` `` `

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

` `` `

NO SLEEP? Clint eyed the thick parka Matt was wearing again. It looked warm.

` `` `

“No.”

` `` `

Y ?

` `` `

“Why? I can’t hear _anything_.” Yeah, no shit. “I used to… Before. I used to hear everything, kept me up at night. That’s why I started putting on the mask. And now, now I can’t hear anything and I still can’t sleep. It’s just too silent, too empty – where is everyone? I know you’re here but I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you breathing, I can’t hear your heart beating. I can smell you, though, so it helps. And up here,” he said tilting his head back, “up here I can smell the city. Smell its people. It’s all I have left.”

` `` `

WHEN SLEEP LAST

` `` `

“I don’t know. Before? I’ve meditated, though. I’m fine.”

` `` `

“Like hell you are.” NOT SAME

` `` `

“Yeah, well. I can’t sleep, so.”

` `` `

Clint didn’t know what to answer, so he simply threaded his fingers through Matt’s. He hoped Matt hadn’t tried to have sex with Clint just as a way to tire himself out enough for sleep, because that would suck.

` `` `

“It’s not… It’s easier, with you. Foggy, Claire… I know they expect me to deal; they think I’m going to find a way to do everything as I did before. But you know.”

` `` `

Yeah. Yeah, he knew. Clint squeezed the hand in his, and thought maybe they could stay just a little longer on the roof. The view was nice; the neon lights and the big, lit-up skyscrapers and the street lamps and the car lights.

` `` `

“You’re shivering.”

` `` `

And, yes, the cold. Clint shrugged; Matt would feel it.

` `` `

Matt’s hand moved in his, as if he prepared for a conversation. “You – wait.”

` `` `

Clint turned his head and waited.

` `` `

“I can feel your heartbeat. On your wrist, right here,” and he put a little bit of pressure on his pulse point. “I can’t hear it, but I can feel it. I hadn’t thought…” Clint wanted to kiss that smile, suddenly. “It’s like a lullaby.” It was a very soft smile.

` `` `

HELP U SLEEP?

` `` `

“Maybe?”

` `` `

BEDSHARE?

` `` `

“You would?”

` `` `

Clint didn’t answer; it was a stupid question. He pulled Matt up and then down the stairs, stripped down to his boxers, watched Matt do the same, and finally found himself stretched out side by side on the bed with him (on _silk_ sheets, wow). After an awkward moment, he finally nudged Matt’s arm and absolutely didn’t grin at the ceiling when fingers circled his wrist. Matt sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh of relief, and soon enough his breathing was slow and regular.

` `` `

As he drifted off, Clint remembered Matt had fallen asleep while sprawled over Clint just a few days ago, right before Foggy had arrived. Maybe his heartbeat did have magical properties, then.

` `` `

The bright morning light woke Clint up, and when he realized Matt’s hand was still loosely holding his wrist he turned his head. Matt was asleep, his face softer now. His beard had already started to grow back, but Clint still wanted to touch it. Feel it. Which, yeah, he wasn’t supposed to do because he was all responsible and shit.

` `` `

So he waited until Matt stirred and stretched and hummed and remembered Clint, and then Matt said in a rough morning voice, “Hey.” His hand slid up Clint’s arm a little, and Clint absolutely didn’t shiver at all. “Slept like a baby, so. Thank you.” Correction: a bedroom voice.

` `` `

Clint moved to his side so he could draw letters on Matt’s chest with his free hand. (It was a very nice chest, in spite of the too-many scars.) BREAKFAST?

` `` `

“In bed?”

` `` `

DONT PUSH IT

` `` `

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

` `` `

Clint drew a smiley face instead of a word, and Matt burst out laughing. Well, a good night’s sleep had done wonders for his mood. LAPTOP AFTER?

` `` `

Matt’s smiled dimmed a little. “All right.”

` `` `

NOTHING BAD

` `` `

Well, just a suggestion to go out for a walk, maybe spend the night at his Bed-Stuy apartment, and oh hey on their way, why not stop to see Bruce. No big deal, right?

` `` `


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Clint likes Granny Weatherwax from Terry Pratchett's Dicsworld :-) (Check the end notes for the clue!)

Big deal. Matt balked at the idea of letting someone he didn’t know examine him. He tried to go out for a sulk on the roof to avoid more talk about it, but Clint wrestled him back on the chair and insisted. Bruce was the Hulk, he knew better than to use Matt as a guinea pig; plus he didn’t even have to know about Matt’s other identity. The truth about how they met as lawyer and witness was good enough; it wouldn’t raise any suspicion, right? No need to mention Matt being in places a blind lawyer wasn’t supposed to be in. Besides, Matt needed to go out, interact with other people, and see how it went. And who knew, maybe Bruce could help.

But Matt didn’t like any of it so _fine_, the computer wasn’t enough to convince him. Clint lifted Matt’s fingers from the reader. PLEASE There, every letter carefully drawn to show how much he meant it. Matt finally said yes once Clint had promised he’d stay with him at all times when in the Avengers labs _and_ that they wouldn’t take the subway, so take that, Inner Kate. Hawkeye (Original Flavor) was great at headology.

“Maybe I’ll give you a shave too,” Matt added as he put his death razor in his overnight bag. Clint hoped the tower’s security wouldn’t go apeshit, but as long as they remembered he was _not_ the Iron Fist but a fully authorized Avenger Clint had hope they’d be fine. Still, that blade was _sharp_.

**Careful and slow**, he signed under Matt’s hands.

“Oh, of course.”

Jesus, that grin was full of promises. Clint wasn’t going to survive that shave.

Finally, after calling Foggy to warn him about their plans, they left the apartment. Clint had insisted they walk instead of taking a taxi, because Matt needed to get used to going outside as a deaf-blind person. He wondered if Matt had realized he’d probably always need someone with him to venture out in the streets safely. That couldn’t go down well, but then again Matt was a stubborn guy with a stunted sense of self-preservation who would try and do everything on his own as soon as possible – and who hated asking for help. And no, that didn’t remind Clint of anyone, thank you very much.

Matt held his unfolded cane in front of him as they made their way through Manhattan, not using it but still clutching it tightly. At times he mentioned where they were, as if to remind Clint he wasn’t lost. He could smell the city or rather his neighborhood, but when they left Hell’s Kitchen it didn’t happen as often.

They finally reached the tower and Clint took them to a side entrance, the one that led directly to the Avengers floors. Of course, Tony’s tech had scanned them and found that A/ there was a new guest and B/ there was a sharp blade in one bag, so Clint’s clever plan to avoid security guards by bypassing the normal entrance fell through. Well, at least they’d know who he was. Right?

“Mr. Barton,” said a guy with arms as thick as his head, “who is your guest?”

How many times had he asked them not to call him that? Ugh. “This is my friend and lawyer, Matt Murdock.”

“Mr. Murdock, can you please provide some ID and open your bag for a security check?”

“He can’t hear you at the moment, and yes there’s a straight razor in his bag because that’s how he shaves. There’s also spare underwear and a toothbrush. Do I need to call Bruce down?”

The guard crossed his arms, and his biceps went from head-sized to watermelon-on-growth-hormones-sized. “Just doing my job, Mr. Barton. The system says you’re authorized, but not him.”

Jesus, Clint was getting pissed. Matt’s hand gripped his elbow a bit harder. “Clint? Clint, what…?” he hissed.

**Guard = dick**. Matt knew **guard** and while they hadn’t covered how to sign **dick** yet, there was a really easy way to say it, right? And from under Matt’s hands, said dick hadn’t even seen it. Clint was just that awesome.

Then Matt spoke very loudly. “What is that smell, Clint?”

What?

“It smells like sweat that someone tried to cover with cheap aftershave.”

Jesus. Was he trying to make Mr. Pumping Iron angry?

“What is he talking about?” Yep, definitely angry.

WAIT Clint wrote in the most obnoxiously slow way he could. “My friend can’t hear you, but you know what they say about losing a sense, right?”

“I smell fine!” Ahnold yelled.

Nina, one of the nice receptionists, poked her head in. “Hey Bob, why are you – uh. Heya, Clint.”

“Hi, Nina. How ya doin’?”

“Eh, slow day, you know. Who’s this handsome arm candy you got here?”

Apparently-Bob honest-to-god squirmed. “Uh, he’s not authorized, Nina.” His voice had gone all soft and – whoa, he was blushing. _Blushing_.

“Clint?” Matt whispered.

**Dick ♥ woman**, Clint signed. **We up soon.**

“Oh, is your friend deaf?”

“And blind, yeah. We’re supposed to meet with…”

“What’s taking you so long? Heard you’d arrived and then nothing.”

“Hey, Bruce. We’re just being held up by security here.”

“Mr. Murdock isn’t authorized, Mr. Banner. I’m just doing my job.” Bob kept glancing in Nina’s direction; she was very obviously aware of his interest and 200% uninterested.

“He should be, I filed in the form a few hours ago.”

Nina handed Bob her tablet. “Yup, he’s on the list. There’s a picture and everything.”

Bob looked down at the screen, did a weird shuffle thing, then waved them in and stomped away without another word.

“Don’t mind him,” she went on. “He’s been hired as a temp and he won’t even last as long as his contract; he’s into it for the power trip. Take care, hon!” She left with a jaunty little wave, and Clint exhaled as they went into the elevator. Finally, they were in.

“So, this is Matt?”

“Yep.” BRUCE

Matt held out his hand and waited until Bruce shook it.

“He can’t speak either?”

NO WORDS?

2 LOUD

UR NOT BUT OK

“He could, but he’s self-conscious about it.”

“The volume?”

“The volume.” Bruce had never mocked him for it when Clint had lost or broken his aids and forgotten to tone it down, but Matt had no reason to trust the guy apart from Clint’s words. “I’ve brought his Braille reader so we can communicate more easily. If it’s plugged into a computer, he can type on a regular keyboard and read on that machine.”

“All right. Poor guy, how did he get exposed to that canister?”

“Wrong place, wrong time; you know how it is, right?” Wow, that sucked. Thankfully Bruce let it go after a long look that told Clint he didn’t buy his innocent, move along, nothing to see here, face.

Once they’d settled in an empty lab, Clint plugged in the reader and he let Bruce and Matt type at each other. It was weirdly quiet apart from the clack of keys and Matt’s clunky old machine, and Clint refrained from poking around and getting zapped with Hulk rays or whatever it was Bruce was working on.

“Okay, I’m going to run some tests and scans now. Clint, can you wait for us here?”

“I promised I’d stay with him.”

Bruce’s eyebrows went up. “You’re very close, then?”

Yes. Probably. Hopefully? “No.”

Clint could see another question coming but right then Tony strode in, already in the middle of a sentence.

“… see my coffee, I left it – huh. Who’s your new friend?”

And of course Clint should have seen it coming. He should have paid attention to Matt’s head tilt when Tony came in, maybe tipped off by the air pressure changes when the door slid open or the vibrations from his footsteps or something; Clint should have warned _someone_.

But he didn’t, and when Tony tapped his tablet on Matt’s shoulder the reaction was quick and – well. That tablet would never work again, and Tony… surely would? Matt caught Tony’s wrist, and the next thing Clint was aware of was Matt about to bash Tony’s head in with his bare fists.

“Matt, no!” He caught Matt around the chest right before Tony’s face was rearranged Picasso-style. Clint didn’t try to pull him back (he doubted he’d have been able to) but he hoped it would be enough.

It was.

“Clint?” Matt sat back and felt for Clint’s hand.

“Yeah.” TONY

“Oh.” Matt scrambled up and backed straight into Clint. “I’m sorry, I, uh. Didn’t see you.” He waved at his face, his slightly-askew glasses.

“What about – ”

“He didn’t hear you either; he can’t. You just surprised him.” T FINE Behind them, Bruce was doing his weird breathing thing for when he needed to stay calm.

“Right. Cool.” Tony got up, wincing a little. “Well, I’ll have to thank Nat for her how-to-go-with-the-throw lessons.” He held out his hand, then let it drop. “How does it work? The ‘Hi, I’m Tony’ thing?”

Clint shrugged. “Just told him.”

“Okay. Can I?” He mimed writing with his finger. “Like you’re doing with him.”

Clint wanted to say _No you can’t, he’s mine_, he really did. But he wasn’t an asshole 24/7 so he pointed at the computer and reader behind them. “That’s more efficient, if you want to say more than a couple words. The Braille reader, I mean.”

Tony frowned. “That old thing? Damn, it looks like it was made 30 years ago. But okay, fine. I have questions for your deaf-blind yet ninja-like buddy.”

Clint put Matt’s hand on the chair and Matt sat down, fingers over the reader. “Don’t, Tony.”

“Don’t what?”

“Matt is a lawyer, and nothing else.”

Tony scoffed. “He’s not.” He then rolled up his sleeves, considered Matt for a moment, and typed a few words.

Clint read over Matt’s shoulder, because he was that kind of asshole.

`I’m Tony Stark. You do a mean throw, congrats. How did you and Clint meet?`

``

`Apologies. I’m Matt Murdock, and Clint is a witness to a crime one of my clients is wrongly accused of.`

``

`Which explains the mad judo skills.`

``

`I overreacted.`

``

`You’re not just a lawyer.`

``

`What else could I be? `

“Tony, stop. I mean it.”

“Stop what?”

“Don’t dig into that.”

“Well, now you know I will.”

“Clint’s right,” Bruce said from his chair. He wasn’t green at all, so it was all good. So far. “There may be more, but now’s not the time. I was about to run a few tests, try a scan or two; I’d like to get on with it. And your coffee has been sitting cold on the bench there for hours.”

Tony frowned. “But… Look, I trust you both, but _him_…”

Matt twisted and reached out until he found Clint’s sleeve. **Leave?** he signed.

TESTS 1ST

Matt shook his head. **Leave**.

“What’s he saying?” Tony looked at their hands, then back at Clint. “It’s the same word, right? It looks the same.”

Matt unplugged the reader, then stood up and unfolded the cane that he’d put right next to the laptop.

Clint took the reader and gently bumped Matt’s arm with his elbow. A hand curled around it. “Look, Tony…”

“Oh, I’m looking. You’re awfully close to a guy you just met, is what I’m seeing.”

“Let them be,” Bruce said.

“I’m worried! Who’s that guy, really? He’s hiding something, and he’s cozying up to you, and… I’m just worried!”

“Something you don’t know about someone doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a threat.” Thank you, Bruce.

“In my experience – ”

“We’re going,” Clint said firmly. Matt’s fingers were tightening around his arm and he’d like to leave before all circulation was cut off.

Tony didn’t want them to leave, however. “Look, do you remember that time a lover used you then dumped you?”

Clint thought about it, but… “Which one?”

“My point, Legolas.”

Okay, fine. However: “We’re not lovers.”

Tony’s eyebrows clearly disagreed, but he let it go. “Fine. Just… be careful. I don’t trust him.”

“Noted.”

Bruce mimed holding a phone to his ear behind Tony’s back, and Clint nodded at him before leading the way to the elevator and picking Matt’s bag they’d left by the door. He was definitely on board with Matt’s request to leave. Jesus, he’d known Tony had issues but he really didn’t need to project them that hard, right?

CAB?

Matt nodded jerkily, and once Nina had called one for them they went outside to wait for it.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said. He didn’t sound sorry.

Y

“They’re your friends. Stark doesn’t like me much, and Banner wanted to poke at me some more.”

UR ANGRY

“I just… I don’t exist. I can’t hear or see and I just – it’s like I don’t exist!”

U DO The cab pulled to the curb and they got in. IM SORRY

“It’s not your fault. You’ve done so much already, and I – ”

I WANT 2

“I’m keeping you from your own life. I hate this, I hate that I can’t… I hate it!”

He was clearly seething and trying to control it, and Clint didn’t know what to do. Oh, idea. WANT 2 WORKOUT?

Matt looked like he considered it. “Where?”

GYM IN BUILDING Well, sorta. He’d set up some targets to practice knife throwing in an unoccupied apartment and it slowly grew; tenants brought second-hand equipment, non-bearing walls vanished, mats and second (third?)-hand table tennis equipment appeared, and even a heavy bag found its way there. So: gym.

“Oh.” Matt smiled. “Then yes.”

Okay, so maybe Clint hadn’t factored in a few things like: Matt hadn’t brought workout clothes and was now wearing Clint’s, he had _really_ nice arms, his cheeks had a cute flush to them after he got his heart rate up on the squeaky old treadmill, and _holy shit_ the things he could do to the heavy bag. He couldn’t see it, he couldn’t hear it creak on its chain, but he could definitely hit it and hit it and hit it again and occasionally kick it – his roundhouse was a thing of beauty and Clint was absolutely not drooling, whatever Inner Kate said.

And then he turned his head in Clint’s general direction and he said, “Want to spar?”

Oh, shit. Matt looked confident and eager, and maybe he could still rely on air displacements or whatever, but…

“I want to know what I can and can’t do.”

He was doing the eyes, with the soft unfocused look and the sweet smile and the messy hair. Inner Kate was snickering.

“Please?”

Aw. OK

Clint’s ass was handed to him repeatedly, and each time Matt looked happier and more at ease. Clint wanted to kiss that smirk off his face, but since as soon as he touched Matt he ended up flat on his back, the only way to keep some dignity was to stay a safe distance away from the deaf and blind guy with mad ninja skills.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep said dignity.

They ended up lying shoulder to shoulder on the mat, panting and happy. Matt was practically glowing.

U GOOD

“I need to be really close to feel someone’s moves, but… maybe I can work on it, get better.” Wait, what? He wasn’t thinking about going out again as Daredevil, right? “I can’t always rely on someone to guide me. I don’t want to.”

Well, Clint couldn't tell him he’d probably never be as independent as he wanted to be, so he only squeezed Matt’s hand. WHAT BRUCE SAY?

Matt sighed. “He said he wanted to test the nerves, see if they were still able to transmit information. He mentioned cochlear implants. ”

GOOD?

“No. I don’t want them. No surgery, no hospitals.” He rolled away from Clint and started stretching, and of course he was very limber; Clint could feel his eyes widening at the sight. He could have been in the circus, really. Then Matt groaned so long and loud as he deepened a stretch that Clint had to stop looking. The soundtrack was bad enough, Jesus.

When Matt seemed done, Clint sat next to him. HUNGRY?

“Sweaty.” He touched his own chin, then felt for Clint’s. “And scratchy.”

Right. He wasn’t being subtle, was he? But Clint didn’t have any complaints. OK

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” He looked anything but. He looked like temptation, and Clint’s resolve was faltering. “If I can’t go back to legal work, maybe I’ll set up a shop as the Blind Barber Of Hell’s Kitchen, you know? Has a nice ring to it. You can be my first client, advertise my skills.” Matt’s fingertips brushed his cheeks. “I can’t let you get a single cut; that would be bad for business.”

Clint had to face the truth: he was doomed.

They picked Lucky up before going back to his own apartment, and Simone’s eyes lingered a bit too long on Matt’s arms.

“Nice,” she said. Clint frowned. “Yours too, promise.”

“Um. Thanks?” He scratched between Lucky’s ears and tried to ignore her smirk. He totally wasn’t jealous. “I owe you one, Simone.”

“You owe me more than one; you’re just lucky my kids love your dog.”

“Right. We’ll just,” he waved a hand in the direction of his own apartment, “let you be, now.”

She looked at the way they were standing close together; Matt’s head turned to Clint a little. “Yeah, I can see you've got plans.”

“Simone!”

“What? You’ve been pining for weeks, he’s into you; what’s the problem?”

Clint was still preparing an answer when Matt tapped his cane on Clint’s ankle and mimed turning a key and opening a door.

U CAN FIND APT?

YES + DOG

Okay, fine. He gave Matt the key and watched Matt tap his way along the hall, Lucky trotting along. Pizza dog wouldn't let Matt get lost, right?

“He sure has a great ass. You should definitely tap it.”

Not that Clint trusted her opinion all that much since she’d had a fling with _Barney_ (and he suspected they still had a friends with benefits thing going on), but in that case he had to agree. But. “I don’t want to be a jerk, Simone; I don’t want to… use him.”

“Do you think I used your brother, or that he used me?”

“What?”

“When he was stuck in that chair, do you think I used him? When I helped him, do you think _he_ used me? Or do you think he bought my help with his money?”

_My_ money, Clint didn’t say. “Er.”

“Before his accident, Matt liked you. He still does, it’s pretty obvious. He was practically glued to you a minute ago.”

“Well, I’m guiding him.”

“He’s just gone to your place on his own. I don’t think he really needed to cling to your arm to just stand here in front of my door. He needs help but he can get it elsewhere, right? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t just rely on you. Take the leap, Clint.”

“I hate you.”

She grinned. “I know. Go get him, Hawkguy.”

“_Eye_. Hawk_eye_.”

“Eh, too many of those.” Unfair: only two. “Have fun!”

She had the gall to wink at him before shutting her door, and Clint was left looking at the wood and repeating her words in his mind.

He was doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint mentions [headology](https://wiki.lspace.org/mediawiki/Headology) ^_^


	8. Chapter 8

Matt was in the shower when he got to his apartment. The cane was folded on top of his overnight bag and he’d left a glass in the sink. Simone was right about that; Matt didn’t need him for everything. He knew where the bathroom was, he could find things in the kitchen; he didn’t need someone, anyone, for everything. Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He liked to be needed, useful; but if Matt chose him even when he didn’t absolutely need him that was good too, right?

Lucky put his chin on Clint’s knee when he sat on the couch. Aw, good dog. “What should I do, buddy?” Lucky only gave him a big doggy grin and a one-eyed, soulful doggy gaze that didn’t really provide any answer. “Yeah, okay.” He checked Lucky’s water bowl then started stripping and stuffing his workout clothes in the washing machine, where Matt had already put his in because he was, in fact, perfectly able to do that too if he wanted to.

The water turned off in the shower and Clint went to knock on the door. “Aw, stupid.” He opened it; the change in temperature should tip Matt off.

“Clint? Shower’s free, if you want it.” Yes, he did. “Do you mind if I stay?” Matt was holding his not-safety razor up.

NO PB Clint took off his aids and put them on the shelf. DEAF 2 4 NOW

He stepped into the shower and watched Matt as he lathered up; it almost looked like a meditative ritual. Some people made tea, others shaved, Clint guessed. He didn’t spend as much time as the day before, only a quick swipe along the grain before rinsing the foam off and applying what looked like some fancy face cream.

And now that he was done with his own shower, it was his turn with the death razor and the mostly naked hot guy in his bathroom. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Clint turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his hips like Matt had done earlier. READY, he wrote. It wasn’t entirely true.

Matt picked the folded shower stool that lived in the bathroom for when injuries made it hard to stand, opened it and gestured for Clint to sit. He stood behind Clint and felt his face, evaluating the hair on his cheeks, his chin, his neck, even his upper lip. Clint was pretty sure his heart rate had already rocketed up. Once Matt was done, he started the ritual all over again. Pouring cream in the bowl, working up a lather, then spreading it all over Clint’s face. Then, picking up the blade.

Clint gulped.

It was weird; he could see Matt’s face in the mirror, how he wasn’t even looking at what he was doing – of course. Of course he wasn’t. He was going to use a very sharp blade on Clint’s neck, and he was blind, and everything was fine. Absolutely fine.

Then Matt put a hand on his forehead and pushed gently until Clint’s skull was resting against Matt’s very naked, defined, still damp stomach and Jesus. Je-sus. Okay, he could go with it, Matt knew what he was doing, and also his fingers were soft and warm as they delicately pulled and tugged on Clint’s skin so it was taut enough. Clint couldn't watch them in the mirror anymore but he _could_ feel the slow glide of the blade on his skin, up his neck, down his cheeks.

Clint closed his eyes and breathed slowly; in, out, and again. Matt was touching him and he was shaving him and damn, he’d never have thought having a death razor against his Adam’s apple could be so… hot. Holy shit was it hot. Or maybe it was just because it was Matt, but – holy shit.

It was all over too soon. Matt patted his cheeks with a towel he’d run under warm water, and a dry one after that; then he honest-to-god _massaged_ his fancy cream in Clint’s skin. And then it was over. He opened his eyes and looked at his face in the mirror. Not a single cut, and not a single hair on his cheeks.

Matt tapped his shoulder and mouthed or maybe said, “Happy?” He exaggerated the movement a bit, probably so Clint could read his lips. It did help.

Yes, he was happy. Also really, really turned on. Clint stood up to face Matt and looked into his unseeing eyes. FEEL, he wrote before settling Matt’s hand on his face.

“I didn’t hurt you, right?”

Clint shook his head. “No, you didn't.”

“Oh. Can you speak again? Say something?” Matt’s fingers spread out over Clint’s face. “I think I can… feel words, maybe.”

Feel words? “I…” He turned his head and kissed Matt’s palm, which made him laugh. He had a beautiful smile, and Clint was pretty sure Matt could sense his blush. Clint’s cheeks felt very warm.

“That’s not a word.”

Aw, fuck it. “Kiss me.” There, two words.

“Did you just ask me…” Matt lifted his free hand and his fingertips circled Clint’s lips, then just rested there.

“Yes.”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

“You know I do.”

Matt’s mouth parted, but he didn't say anything. The fingers left his mouth and slid to his cheek, his neck; they splayed over his chest and Clint was pretty sure his heart was beating hard enough that Matt felt it. Then they went further down, over his abs and around his navel and stopped again, this time on his hip bone. Just above his towel. The index slipped just under. “Okay?”

“Very.” Clint was stupidly grateful Matt couldn’t hear his voice break.

The towel fell and Clint was pretty sure he’d never kissed a guy with lips that soft.

Clint stretched on the bed and looked at Matt sprawled out next to him. He wasn’t _quite_ asleep, but not far from it, one arm flung far over his head and the other still bent, the wrist right where Clint had been pinning it down earlier. Matt was a slippery eel of a guy and it had taken some work to get him flat on his back. It was like he thought sex was a sparring session, right up until he got tired of working at it and let Clint do whatever he wanted to him. If they ever trained together again, staying focused was going to be really… hard.

His many scars were all on display now, and Clint wondered what had caused some of them. One actually looked like he’d been hit by an arrow, and he touched it after raising himself on an elbow. Matt’s hand covered his and Clint looked up at his face to read his lips.

“Poisoned arrow,” Matt said, then he moved his fingers to Clint’s face.

“Sleep?” He said, then wrote it out on Matt’s chest for good measure.

“What time is it?”

4PM

“I should work.”

“Work?” ?

“I’m going to the office tomorrow, Sheppard still needs us.”

“Who?” ?

“Our client, the guy you rescued, remember?”

Ah, yes. Clint nodded.

“There’s stuff I can still do; research, legal counsel… and if it’s not enough, then I’ll have to explore other options.”

“Barber?” BARBER?

Matt smiled. “Maybe. I could try to take down Fisk with my razor.”

“Please don’t.” NO “Or you could be my kept guy.” KEPT GUY

The smile dropped. “I can work. I can be useful. I can – ”

“Hey, hey. I was joking.” JK!

“I feel so limited. I didn’t before, but now…”

“You flattened Iron Man. You’re not limited.” U >–>o TONY

“Did you just draw on me?”

Clint nodded.

“Aw.”

Matt seemed pleased, and it was a good look on him. They didn’t need to say anything for a while, not with words at any rate. Although they did use their mouths, and plenty was communicated that way. Matt looked even more debauched when Clint was done with him, and that filled him with pride. The red, plump lips and the flush from cheeks to chest and the half-closed eyes… yup. _Good job, Hawkeye. Mellow him up for the rest of that conversation._

COUNSELING?

Matt’s fingers found his face again. “What for?”

Yeah good question. What for? It had never done much for Clint, but it was mandatory S.H.I.E.L.D. procedure in case of trauma. Now he thought about it, it probably was mandatory for non-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives too, or at least highly recommended. “To help?”

“I went through trauma recovery once already. It’s only going to be more of the same.”

Well, not quite; his situation had evolved. “Okay, if you think so.” OK

“I think maybe I’ll go talk to Maggie soon.”

“Maggie?” He drew another question mark on Matt’s skin. Clint thought he’d heard the name before, but he couldn't quite remember where or when. Or who, obviously.

“Sister Maggie. She’s, uh. She works in the orphanage where I grew up after my dad died.” Matt made a weird face, nervous and eager at the same time. “Join me? If you’d like.”

Okay, this looked important. Well, it wasn’t like he was meeting the parents, right? It was just a nun. “Sure.” OK

That earned Clint a new smile, and Matt pulled him down for more kissing.

Clint wasn’t big on churches, but if going to one got him such enthusiasm maybe he could make the effort once in a while. Worth it.

They didn’t sleep much that night but Clint had expected Matt would still be all loose and happy in the morning – _Clint_ was all loosened up, at least. But Matt wasn’t. In the early morning light his features looked drawn, as if he hadn’t slept. Which Clint took a little personally, because really? _He_ had slept like a baby, after all the… endorphins. He remembered they’d still been touching as he fell asleep, but now Matt was impersonating a log on the other side of the bed. His eyes were open, although as unfocused as ever.

Clint inched a little closer and watched Matt as he felt the mattress move under him and turned in Clint's direction. Yeah, he was awake.

NO SLEEP?

Matt shrugged.

WRONG BED?

Another shrug.

Clint picked the hand resting on Matt’s belly, kissed the palm and set it on his face. “Talk to me,” he said. Y? Clint added on Matt’s skin. He wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl and he wasn’t going to ask if _he_ was the problem, if Matt didn’t like him after all. Like like, even. _Do you like like me? Tick the right box, Yes or No._

It probably had nothing to do with Clint, though. Matt had been cheerful the day before but he was still upset deep down; he couldn't really have made his peace with the endless silence on top of the endless night yet. If he ever could. Every day that his hearing didn’t come back had to hurt; knowing all that his deafness had taken away from him. Many things were harder or even impossible, things that made up who he was. The law, Daredevil, his independence. His self-reliance.

“You don’t have to go to work today. We could go check out those associations for people like – ”

“No. I’m not your responsibility, and I don’t want charity.”

Wait. “It’s not charity, and I _want_ to…”

Matt shook his head and pulled Clint down, his nails digging into Clint’s scalp and, okay, fine. Clint had never claimed to be good with words anyway.

Finally. Finally, Matt was dozing after some more vigorous… endorphin-production. It was early still, and Clint decided to let him have a couple hours of sleep. Maybe he was tired enough to get some rest. Clint went down the stairs and replaced the board that he put up on the last step when he didn’t want Lucky to come into his loft bedroom, then hunted for some pen and paper. Aw, no; when he tried pushing it into the notepad the pencil broke. Okay. Well, he didn’t actually need ink or lead, he just needed to make an indent, right?

He ended up carving the cardboard of an old box with a knife.

OUT W/ DOG

BACK W/ BREAKFAST

There. Good enough. He dropped it right next to Matt, went back downstairs for his tactile watch and put it on the bedside table, and then almost decided to get back in bed. It was tempting. But Lucky needed to get out and he knew the bakery two blocks east would open soon, so he quickly dressed and went out, Lucky at his heels.

He checked his phone as he walked. Foggy was asking how things were, Tony had sent him about 15 messages to apologize, Kate wanted to know if he liked macaroons, and Cap was reminding everyone of the not-mandatory-yet-strongly-recommended team training session that afternoon. Damn, he’d forgotten about that. Clint sighed and typed his answers as Lucky sniffed every blade of grass in the little park and graced a few with his pee.

Matt hadn’t stirred when he got back, so he started the coffee before going back upstairs to wake Matt up. He’d buried his face in Clint’s pillow; it was a miracle he hadn’t asphyxiated. He started making snuffling, I-don’t-want-to-wake-up noises when Clint sat on the mattress.

“Hey,” Clint said out of habit.

Matt wriggled a little then reached out, found the cardboard and ran his fingers over it, then rolled over and slid into the dip created by Clint’s weight. Wow, no one had told him Daredevil could be a clumsy puppy in the morning.

HI, he wrote on the bit of shoulder he could see. ITS 8

Matt finally pulled the covers away from his face. He looked like a guy who hadn’t gotten more than 2 hours of sleep, which: true. “Can smell coffee,” he mumbled.

Yup. & BAGELS

Finally, Matt sighed and stretched. “Foggy’s gonna kill me if I’m too late.”

Well, Foggy probably wasn’t expecting him. STAY?

“I can’t.” He frowned at the ceiling. “There’s our client, I need to know where we are in his case, what we can do. We could take Fisk down if we play it well, and I’m just here, useless.” He sat up. “I need to know that I can still do it. That I can still do my job. I can’t put on the mask right now, but I can still… I can. I have to.”

Clint picked Matt’s hand up and put it on his face. “Breakfast first then I’ll go with you, all right?”

“Go with me?” Clint nodded. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. And I have to be at the Tower this afternoon. Pick you up after work?” Matt mouthed the words, as if to make sure he’d understood well enough through touch. “Please,” Clint added.

Not charity, not pity.

So Matt said yes.


	9. Chapter 9

It was just past 9:45 when they reached the offices of Nelson and Murdock. Even though Clint had messaged Foggy, both he and Karen were surprised Matt had really come.

Ms. Blue Eyes jumped out of her chair to welcome them. “Matt, you’re better!”

But Matt didn’t move, only twitched his head a little when she got close. She froze, looking from him to Clint.

“He still can’t hear,” Clint said. _And he probably won’t talk around you either_, but Clint kept that thought to himself.

“Shit, that sucks.” Foggy walked past her to hug Matt. “Hey, buddy; we got some shitty coffee, will make you feel right at home.”

“Fogs,” Matt said. Well, it was more of a whisper, but it made Foggy smile: little victories, right?

Foggy steered Matt to a little table with a coffee machine and showed him where everything was by putting his hand on the carafe, the sugar, the milk, and finally the mugs. “So I guess you already know, but it’s bound to be a little different, now. Right, I’m going to try what he does,” and he wrote something on Matt’s palm.

Matt shook his head.

“Okay, well, you’re not wrong, it’s shitty coffee. Hmm.” He wrote something else, and this time Matt nodded. “Okay, good.” More words, and this time Matt wrote something after shaking his head. “Oh, really? Huh.” Foggy looked speculatively at Clint. It was a loaded look, but loaded with what? Clint couldn’t tell.

Apparently done with the coffee table, Foggy patted Matt’s shoulder, led him back to Clint, and wrote CHAT on his hands before heading to his little office.

Ms. Blue Eyes raised her eyebrows. “So he won’t talk? I know he can. How are we supposed to work?”

“We’ll just chat via the computer, Karen!” Foggy said from his desk.

She sighed. “Fine. It’s good to see you, Matt. Uh, right.” she looked up at Clint as if to ask his permission before taking Matt’s hand and printing, GOOD 2 C U in it.

Matt nodded before turning to his own office, and Clint accompanied him into the small room. He seemed familiar enough with the lay of the land, leaning his cane against the wall, setting his laptop down, plugging it in easily and without fumbling. Then he straightened and pointed to the door that was still open, and Clint closed it before going back to Matt.

CLOSED

“Good,” Matt whispered. He took his glasses off and tilted his head back a little, waiting.

Aw, really? Did he know there was a big glass pane on the door, and that Foggy could see them?

“Please?”

Yeah, okay. So Clint bent just enough to give him a peck on the lips, but because Matt could be a terrible, terrible little shit it soon turned into something more involved as he sat on the desk and opened his legs so Clint could –

There was a shrill sound and Clint jumped away.

“Nelson, Murdock and Page; Page speaking,” Ms. Blue Eyes said behind the door.

PHONE

Matt exhaled. “Maybe we got a little carried away,” he whispered.

No shit.

They stayed there, forehead to forehead, for a minute; waiting for their hearts to slow down as they breathed each other’s air. Clint was pretty sure they were disgustingly cute.

U GOOD?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. Sorry.”

What? Nothing to be sorry for. Clint dropped a quick kiss on Matt’s red lips and then his palm before settling it on his own face.

“I’ll pick you up at around 5 or 6, okay?” 5/6 PM

Matt nodded and dropped his hand back to the desk. “Tonight,” he said in a carefully low voice.

Yep.

Clint opened the door and found himself face to face with a scowling Foggy, his arms crossed and his mouth turned downward.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said. Behind him, Karen Page was glaring daggers at Clint.

“Uh, okay?”

Foggy clamped a hand on his biceps and marched them out. He didn’t say anything until they were outside in the street.

“What the _hell_? What the hell are you thinking?”

“Um.” Clint had never been known for his _thinking_, right?

“He trusts you, _I_ trusted you, and now you’re sucking face with him in the office? Does it turn you on, when someone needs you that much to get around?”

Whoa, no. “It’s not like that!”

“Well, there was no face sucking before; and now all of a sudden… what am I supposed to think?” Foggy deflated a little. “Look, I don’t really think you’re using him or anything, but… he’s had shitty luck in his life, and he has an abysmal track record in his love life, and…”

“You’re worried?”

“I’m worried.”

“So’s Tony, actually.”

Foggy’s eyebrows went up. “Tony. Tony _Stark_?”

“Yeah. He butted heads with Matt. Uh, not literally,” Clint added at Foggy’s alarmed expression. “Or, well, literally. He surprised Matt and, uh.”

“No. don’t tell me.” Clint didn’t tell. “No, really? He flattened Iron Man?”

Clint grinned. “Like a pancake.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was kinda fun. Well, not at the moment. Tony got mighty suspicious, but he’s come around.”

“Does he know you’re… ?” Foggy waved his hand.

“No. Pretty new.”

Foggy didn't seem entirely reassured, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted to punch Clint’s face any longer. “He’s actually talking to you. How is he, really?”

“Ups and downs. He’s worried about your client, about Fisk, about being able to do his job here, about… you know.”

Foggy nodded, then shook his head. “He can’t even be in court right now. Legal counsel, research, that should be okay provided the resources are online or in Braille somewhere, but everything else…”

“Yeah. He’s pretty good with a razor though, so I guess he could open a barber shop if the law thing doesn’t work out.”

“A razor. He’s still using that murder blade? God, it scared the shit out of me the first time I saw that thing.”

Clint smiled. “Yeah, it sure is something. So, uh. Shovel talk over?”

“It’s not a shovel – fine, it is. Sorry, I jumped to conclusions. But I will use my fisticuffs on you if you hurt him, all right?”

Clint glanced up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m more scared of Karen than of you.”

“Well, you have good instincts there. Look, is there anything you can think of that might help?”

“With Matt?” Foggy nodded. “Not really, no. You’ve known him for much longer than me.”

“So, pretend everything is fine and dandy and totally normal, but keep in mind a dramatic breakdown can happen anytime.”

“Yeah, basically.” Matt would inevitably get frustrated.

“Any idea on what to do to distract him that doesn’t imply sticking my tongue down his throat?”

“Ew.” That wasn’t what they were doing, right? Well. Not exactly. “Er, I’d say take him to a heavy bag so he can work it out?”

“It’s not too – he still can?”

“Sure. As long as he’s close enough, he can feel things and people moving through the air. That’s how he got Tony, and me too when we sparred. More than 2 feet away and you’re good, but within that range…”

“Damn. Wait,” Foggy said. “Wait. He’s not going to try and go out at night again, right? He’s not going to get it in his head that he should…?”

“I don’t know. Not yet.” But possibly, once he’d mastered his new situation. Shit, anyone with a gun could just have him in their crosshairs and he’d be dead in a second. If a car didn’t run him over or if he misremembered the distance between two roofs or – shit.

“He’s an idiot, a martyr and an idiot. He’s going to.”

Foggy wasn’t wrong, but. “Look, we’re not there yet; and who knows, maybe his hearing will come back after all.”

“You don’t believe it.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint shrugged. Not like there was any known cure for some mysterious, experimental nerve-targeting gas, right? Time was the only hope they had.

“Right. Uh, sorry for earlier. Worrying about Matt, it’s second nature by now.”

Clint could totally see how it could be, Matt wasn’t the kind to keep safe. _How does it feel to be on the other side, for once?_ Inner Kate asked. Aw, how was it that his good behavior wasn’t rewarded and Inner Kate was still mocking him in his head? “Nah, I get it.”

“So, guess I’ll see you, right?”

“Yeah, same.”

They looked awkwardly at each other for a moment before finally shaking hands. Foggy went back up to his office and Clint made for the Tower, trying very hard to put all thoughts of Matt aside for the next few hours. He had a real, demanding job too, right?

But he wasn’t very successful at focusing on anything other than hitting targets and thinking of Matt for the rest of the day.

The sound of his phone ringing startled him so much Clint almost brained himself on the locker door. Aw, head; he’d have (another) bruise now. He dug into his bag and Tony slapped his butt as he walked past.

“Hey, you weren’t really with us today, anything on your mind? Or anyone?” Tony winked.

“Yeah, no, wait, just a sex – sec. Just a sec!”

“That’s very smooth, birdboy.” Clint had to twist so Tony couldn’t see his screen. “Oh, is it Helen Keller?”

“No, actually.” Well, kind of; it was Foggy telling him he’d taken Matt to see the Sister mid-afternoon after all and that he should be home by now.

“It isn’t? If you say so.” Tony didn’t look convinced at all but let it go. “Look, I was a bit of a dick the other day.”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday. I looked this guy up, and I found, uh.” He looked around, looking about as stealthy as an elephant. Good thing everybody else had left the locker room. “I found _stuff_. But I thought, hey, the guy is going to need some help, so I’m working on – look, can you come to the workshop with him tomorrow?”

“Not sure he’s going to want to, after yesterday.”

“Don’t tell him where you’re going, then.”

Clint frowned. He was pretty sure that was a dick move. He was pretty well-versed in those or so his exes said, so he should be good at spotting them, right? “Will you have new arrows for me too?”

“Yep, I’m almost done with the new taser ones. Lighter and thinner, so you can carry more. But I’m working on something for him, I mean something like this old crappy thing you brought yesterday but better, you know? That he could wear on his arm, and that could connect with his phone too, and with a mic so it can transcribe voice conversation. I still have problems with ambient noises; it’s a work in progress, but maybe… What do you think?” Tony was bouncing on his toes, in full-on mad engineer mode.

“Like a smartwatch?”

“_Please_. Much cooler than that!”

“I’ll talk to him, let you know.”

Tony pouted a little; maybe he’d been hoping for a more enthusiastic answer. “Fine.”

“You know I’ll be there for the arrows, right?” Clint loved those taser arrows.

“You better be, Merideye [1] !”

Asshole. But he did make cool toys.

Clint almost dropped his overnight bag when he found the one and only Jessica Jones in Matt’s apartment. Her hands were still over the laptop keyboard when he came in, and Matt’s head turned to him.

“Clint?” he said. He must have felt the floor vibrate or something.

“Yeah.” He squeezed Matt’s shoulder and waved at Jessica. “Hey.”

Her permafrown didn’t waver. “You.”

“Um. Me?”

“What happened to him? What did you do?”

“It’s not my fault,” Clint said. From her face, that had been the wrong thing to say. “It’s that guy, Bullseye. Some sort of poison gas that hits specific nerves.”

“Tailored for him?” She gestured at Matt with her chin. “Poindexter knows who he is, I guess he could have gotten it done.”

“Maybe.” Clint guided Matt’s palm to his face and spoke a little more slowly. “Foggy called, said you were home. You OK?”

Matt nodded and took his hand away, putting it back on the Braille reader.

“He can read your words like that? Touching your face?”

“We’re working on it. What did you come for?”

“I got some intel, thought I should share with the class. Wasn’t expecting… you know.”

“Right. Hit us up, I’ll read over your shoulder.”

“Rude,” she said, but she started typing.

Turned out the guy in hospital had been not-so-mysteriously killed in his bed, a bullet right between the eyes. Ballistics had determined the killer had taken the shot from another building, far enough away that there wasn’t much doubt of who’d done it. Vanessa Fisk had increased security around herself after that, but Jess found out there had been other highly suspicious deaths in her entourage, deaths that had been hushed down but that Goth PI had dug out. Bullseye was waging a one-man-war on all those he felt had wronged him, and the list was long. Probably about seven billion people, Clint estimated.

`And now he’s going after you too`

“I’ll get him,” Matt said.

`Don’t be stupid`

`(Clint) WE will get him, promise`

“Don’t encourage him, Barton.” Clint looked at her. “He’s not going to fight anyone in that state.”

Didn't mean he wasn’t going to try, but they’d deal with it when it’d happen. Or at least, he hoped so. “He’s still a lawyer, he can work that angle just fine.”

`Teamwork`, he typed.

“Someone fixed him.” Matt’s hand curled into a fist next to the reader. “Fisk broke his back, and someone fixed him. He smells different now, more… metallic. Who could have done that? And who wanted to?”

Goth Snow White perked up. `Anything else?`

“He’s a bit stronger, too. Surprised me.”

`Not much to go on`

“Who’s funding him? He’s officially a killer for hire now, but it could very well be a cover so his handlers can’t be found.”

`What are you thinking then? AIM, Hydra, a Hand offshoot?`

“People with money, and who want to take Fisk down. He has to have handlers, and handlers wouldn’t let him go on a personal quest if it didn’t align with their interests.”

`People who’d want to take you down too then`

`Or else he wouldn’t have been prepared with that poison gas`

Matt frowned. “He knew who I was. He could have told anyone.”

“Oh, shit,” Jessica said. `Danny said they never recovered Gao’s body from Midland Circle`

“Did they find – ”

`Do you really want to know the answer to that question?`

Matt’s hands left the reader, his jaw tight.

“What question?” Clint asked.

“His stab-happy zombie girlfriend, Elektra. He’s never mentioned her?” Clint shook his head. A… zombie girlfriend? “Long story. Bitch better not come back.” Okay, looked like there was no love lost there. Maybe one day Matt would talk about her, though. Clint was pretty sure he’d get a different story because Matt looked sad, but not angry.

“Madame Gao,” Matt finally said. “She had the means, and she had chemists for her drug operation.” He finally put his fingers back on the reader, waiting.

`And she hates Fisk’s guts, and yours`

“Yours too, probably. And Danny’s, Luke’s…”

`I’ll warn them, you tell your partner`

“Hey, I’m right here,” Clint said.

She slowly looked up from the screen and turned to stare at him, her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I, um.” Oh, shit. “You meant warning _Foggy_ he’s in danger too, right?”

“Yes. Foggy Nelson, his _law_ partner.” She enunciated slowly as if talking to a child. “What did you – no. Are you two fucking?”

“Aw, look, it’s not like – okay, it’s a little bit like that.” Clint tried to smile like a normal, nice, harmless person; her eyebrows lowered further down. Shit. “It sort of… happened?”

“You remember I can’t hear you, right?” Matt said.

`WTF are you seriously fucking Hawkeye`

“Well, technically…” She slapped the table hard enough that Matt stopped talking. He didn’t stop smirking, though.

“God, I don’t want to know!” `Whatever. I’ll see what I can find`

She pushed her chair back and stood awkwardly by Matt’s chair. He must have sensed her somehow, because he tilted his head back a little.

“Jess?” She glared down at him and finally punched his shoulder. “You too,” he said. She grunted and made for the door, not without dragging Clint by the arm.

“You,” she hissed.

“You know he can’t hear you, yeah?”

She glared. “He usually can hear everything. It’s hard to… Anyway.” She gripped his biceps harder and holy shit, she was _strong_.

“Ow.”

“I swear, Barton. If you hurt him, I’ll tear your dick off and make you eat it.” Whoa. Intense much? “He’s an asshole, but he’s _our_ asshole. Got it?”

“You’re scary,” he said. Which was, in fact, a little hot too, but he knew better than to say that to her face. He did have a sense of self-preservation, you know? (Inner Kate laughed at him, the little punk.) “And I’m not planning to.”

“You better not.” She shoved him away from her for good measure. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Kinky.”

“_Barton_.”

He raised his hands. “Fine, fine, jeez.” Not that he didn’t approve of folks looking out for their friend, but still. “Don’t you trust him?”

She looked profoundly unimpressed. “What about the words blind ninja, lawyer _and_ vigilante, or Catholic fighting in a devil suit, inspires confidence in his decision-making abilities regarding his own mental and physical well-being?”

Well, when you put it like that. “He’s not wearing that suit anymore.”

“He should, it was armored.”

“Look, we’re… good. Matt and me.” Whatever that was. Clint wasn’t the kind to overthink that stuff.

“Right. I guess it’s a case of the deaf leading the blind, right?” Hey. She glanced in Matt’s direction before looking back at him. “I’m off; I’ll keep you updated.”

He nodded and she left without a backward glance. Clint decided she couldn’t ever meet with Nat, they’d be too terrifying together. He shuddered. Absolutely not _ever_.

Matt let himself be dragged to Tony’s workshop the next morning, although probably more because he wanted Tony to apologize than anything else. Clint hoped his pride would still let him try Tony’s tech, but he wasn’t counting much on it.

Standing stiff and unsmiling in the big room, Matt was visibly tense, one hand clamped on Clint’s elbow and the other tight around his cane. He finally let go of Clint and held out his hand.

“Hello,” he said.

Tony shook it and immediately tried to lead him to one of the benches where a weird, vambrace-like thing was waiting. Matt, of course, dug his heels in. Tony let go of Matt right away. “Oh, yeah. Um.” He waved at a Braille reader set up to the side of the bench. “Clint, can you?”

“Sure.”

Once a frowning Matt had his fingertips ready on the reader, Tony started talking and the reader, connected to absolutely no visible computer, started Braille-ing.

“So hey, I’m sorry about the other day, man. But then I got to thinking, maybe I could do something better, right?” Tony looked at Matt, but he got no answer. “Right. So I thought, that guy’s doing good work, I should make him something useful. An apology gift, you know? Pep says you can do that with words, but eh, words. So, just imagine that you have the same thing you’re reading on, but a portable version that you can carry around on your arm. Cool, huh? But also, that it can connect with computers and phones, and that can transcribe speech too? What do you say?”

Matt felt around the reader with one hand. No wire, no computer. Shit, he was searching for a keyboard to type something.

“Tony, do you have a computer he can type on?”

“Well sure, but I thought he could speak.”

“It’s… complicated. Laptop?”

Tony slid a wireless keyboard on the bench and Matt caught it when it bumped into his fingers.

Words appeared on one of Tony’s giant holo screens. `Even if you miniaturize all this, you can’t miniaturize the pins. It wouldn't be readable.`

“For most people, no. For you though…”

Matt forgot to type. “Me?”

“You’re enhanced, right?”

`I don’t know what you’re implying`

Tony sighed. “I know you’re Daredevil.”

`I’m a lawyer`

“That too. Look, do you want to try it? Let me know what works, what doesn’t?”

Matt didn’t answer right away. `I can’t be Daredevil`, he finally typed.

Clint shook his head; of course Tony would make a mess of it. He tapped Matt’s shoulder and took the proffered hand. U CAN TRUST T, he wrote. HES AN ASS BUT HES OK Matt still didn’t look convinced. HE WONT TELL, Clint added. UR ID SAFE

Matt sighed. “Fine,” he said.

Tony grinned and patted the vambrace. “You’re on, baby!”

The rest of the morning was spent with Tony tinkering and tweaking the device. It was still very obviously unfinished, with wires and electronics poking out everywhere; but it was working fine. Matt slowly warmed up to Tony, and finally agreed to talk once he’d gotten Tony to make it warn him when he spoke too loudly relative to the ambient noise.

“I can’t guarantee it’s always going to work, but it should help.”

Matt’s fingers ran over the vambrace. “It doesn’t catch up all the words,” he said.

“Aw, damn. What if I try to speak more slowly?”

“Better.”

“Hm, okay.”

More typing, more testing, more screwdriver-waving. They tested it with more background noise (it did okay depending on the type of noise), combined with a translator (not good), and paired with Clint’s phone (great).

Then Matt pointed out it felt a little fragile and maybe he should try and smash his arm against the table just to see how it fared, Tony shrieked that it was a prototype, and they ended up sort of arm-wrestling over the bench.

“What about other people?” Matt asked once Tony had made sure his baby had survived.

“What do you mean? I made it for you.”

“There are a lot of people who’d benefit from that.”

“It would need some modifications, I tailored it to your sensitivity. Well, to what I could infer of it.”

Matt crossed his legs. “Make the specs open source.”

“_Lawyers_,” Tony said.

But when they left the tower with a promise to be back the next day for the final product (and the new taser arrows), he was already drafting up the open source documentation.

It helped, Matt swore it did. He used Tony’s VamBraille (TM) mostly at work because it meant he could actually talk to their clients instead of hiding from human interaction in his office, and he even accompanied Foggy to court once, although not to talk to the judge or jury himself. But his frustration kept growing. They managed to get their original client, Sheppard, out of jail; but they didn’t have enough yet to have the case dropped entirely. Goth Snow White confirmed this Madame Gao was back and probably behind the return of Bionic Bullseye, but the guy himself was impossible to pin down. There had been a few more deaths in Fisk’s ranks, but nothing was ever enough to help catch him.

Matt was this close to going out himself, and more often than not Clint found a reason for them to sleep in Bed-Stuy. _Think of Lucky_, he said. _I miss my dog_. Or, _We could use the gym there_, and even once, _My neighbors are less nosy than yours_. They weren’t even lies, but the main reason was making sure Matt was far enough away from his most familiar ground that he wouldn’t try to go after Poindexter himself. He was growing more confident now, and twice already Clint had woken up to find the bed empty in the middle of the night. The first time, he found Matt walking around the block on his own, not yet trying to cross a street but relying on his cane, his memory and his sense of smell to avoid (most) obstacles. Clint dragged him back inside and made him swear not to do it again, and so of course two nights later Matt sneaked out _on the roof_. He’d managed to land safely on the next building, but he hadn’t been so lucky with his second jump. Clint found him in a dumpster, a bit dazed by his landing but mostly unharmed apart from his pride.

He climbed inside to get Matt out, but went for a good talking to first. Well, printing to – no way was he letting Matt’s dumpstery hands anywhere near his face.

U IDIOT, he wrote. WHAT U THINKING

“Hey,” Matt said. “I didn’t miss the first one.”

LUCKY DUMPSTER

“You know, that’s how I met Claire.”

BEING IDIOT?

Matt grinned. “She’d agree with you.” Clint pinched the palm in his hands. “Ow! I fell in her dumpster. She fished me out and patched me up.”

UR LUCKY & V STINKY Clint drew a line after that last word as if to underline it.

“But I did it!”

& THEN U DIDNT

“Aw, sure. Fine. But tomorrow, I won’t miss!”

Okay, no. Matt was going to relocate permanently to Bed-Stuy, at least until he stopped being such a dumbass. Some forced time-out would surely help, right? _Right, _Inner Kate said. _Shut up, _Clint answered. He was being a responsible adult here, couldn’t she see that? The cheek on that girl, really. Even when she was just a voice in his head.

They climbed out of the dumpster and Clint led them straight into the shower to wash the smell out, and Matt finally promised he wouldn’t try _that_ again.

Small victories, right? They would get through this.

1 Tony references [Merida](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merida_\(Disney\)), another archer like Hawkeye :-)  [ back ]


	10. Chapter 10

But, almost three weeks after he’d lost his hearing, Matt’s frustration was eating him up. He was more moody every day, more short-tempered too; he was smiling less and he’d even quit going to his church. What was the point, he said, if he couldn’t even hear mass?

Well, Clint had no idea what the point _was_ anyway, but he’d never been religious. What really worried him was that it meant he wasn’t talking to the Sister he was close to, and he was avoiding his other friends too. Foggy said he put on a brave face at work, but as soon as their last client of the day had left he was shutting everyone else out.

“Claire tried to get him out for coffee and Danny brought us lunch once; but he just…” Foggy sighed on the phone. “I don’t know what to do. He needs help.”

But they both knew Matt didn’t want it.

And Clint had been there, in that place where you couldn’t see any way up, couldn't reach out and take any hand. He just knew they had to keep that hand out and wait for Matt to make the move, but they couldn’t do it for him. Just be there, and be patient.

And it really sucked.

Now that they were staying at Clint’s most nights, Matt spent more and more time in the building’s gym. He usually went early in the morning; he’d admitted he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned for a few hours, then gave up and tried to tire himself out until he was exhausted enough to stay down for a few hours. A few times, Clint found him there, flat on his back and still panting, his muscles quivering and unable to take him back to the apartment.

“That’s not healthy,” Clint said once. He had to hold Matt’s hand to his face; his arm was too shaky.

Matt shrugged. “I can’t sleep.”

“What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

“Put on the suit.” Right. “But I can’t help anyone, now.”

“Sure you can.”

“Can’t fight, can’t go to court.”

And there wasn’t much Clint could say to that, was there? He kissed Matt’s palm.

“I thought… there was a time when I thought that the one thing no one could take from me was Daredevil. That not even God could stop that. I thought, Matt Murdock can die, but the devil? No. I wasn’t even fully healed, but I still put on the mask, you know? But I was wrong. God took even that from me. There’s nothing left.”

“Matt...”

“Look at me; I can’t even cross a street on my own.”

“I can help. Lots of people can help.”

“I don’t want help!” Matt yelled. He pushed himself up, taking his hand away from Clint’s face. “I want – I want my hearing back, I want my life back, I want…” He reached out until he found Clint and threw himself into a violent kiss, full of nails and teeth and rage. “Tell me you didn’t turn on the lights,” he said. “Tell me it’s dark for you,” and he had both hands on Clint’s face.

“Matt,” he whispered. Clint didn’t have the heart to lie.

“And take them off,” Matt said, “take them off, take them off, take them off,” and when Clint didn’t he did it himself, throwing Clint’s aids to the mat before falling back on the floor and pulling Clint down with him. “Tell me it’s all dark and silent for you too, now,” Clint read on Matt’s lips.

Clint ended with an armful of crying Matt, his sleep shirt soaked with tears and snot and whatever it was Matt needed to get out. He hoped it was progress. 

It didn’t feel like progress.

Matt was subdued the next morning, pale apart from dark circles under puffy eyes. Clint didn’t look much better but Lucky, at least, didn’t care. He’d let the pizza dog join them on the couch for the rest of the night, anchoring Matt down with their weight. He didn’t try to leave the apartment again, so there was that.

Matt tried to apologize over coffee, then he tried to pretend he was in any way fit for work; but Clint wasn’t having any of it.

“Our clients…”

CAN WAIT

“I should…”

Clint brought Matt’s hand to his face and let him settle his fingers there. “You’re going to see the Sister,” he said, slowly enough that every word would be clear. Matt tried to take his hand away, but Clint caught his wrist and held it firmly. “You won’t see a counselor, you won’t go to trauma therapy, you won’t make an appointment with a doctor; but you used to talk to her. You used to _listen_ to her. So Sister Maggie it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Clint sighed. “Why not?”

“I don’t want her to see me like that.”

“Like what? I thought she’d seen you in worse shape.”

“It was different.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not going to St. Agnes.”

“_You’re_ not going anywhere,” Clint said. His doorbell rang, and he grinned. _Gotcha, Murdock_.

Once she was inside, he ignored Matt’s betrayed face and took Lucky out for a long walk to give them some privacy. Matt had never said anything about it, but Clint was pretty sure there was way more history there than just, “She stitched my gut that one time.” Also she was a little terrifying, and Clint had learned since before juvie to keep clear of terrifying nuns, so. Jeez, he still remembered Sister Jane’s math class.

Clint came back after lunchtime, wondering what (and who) he’d find. The apartment was silent, but the Sister’s tote was still on a kitchen stool. He resisted the urge to see what it was she carried around; a bible, a crucifix, a rosary? A bottle of holy water, maybe? Who knew? Clint checked Lucky’s water bowl and pointed him to the couch before going up the stairs.

She was sitting on the bed, the VamBraille on her lap and one hand over Matt’s on top of the covers. He was curled up around her, his face lax in sleep. Finally. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy, but her face was dry now.

“Um,” Clint said. He’d never claimed to be good with words, all right?

She glanced up at him, calm and unsurprised. “Thank you.”

“Uh?” He knew words, all right? He knew them. Just… not right now.

“I wish Matthew could have it easier. I just wish…” She took a deep breath. “I just wish he didn’t have to struggle so much. But,” she added with a small smile, “I suspect he wouldn’t know what to do with easy, now. I’m glad there are people like you in his life now, who will stand by him even when he’s struggling.”

“You’re here, too.”

“I wasn’t always.” She brushed some hair from Matt’s face. “I was, in fact, the first one to abandon him. One could say I set the trend.” Clint must have made a surprised noise. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m his… he is my son. I’m not sure I ever was his mother.” What? “I left him and his father when he was a baby, went back to the Church. I couldn't take care of him, all I could see was that they’d be better off without me. I abandoned Matthew. I never told him; I never found the courage. He learned anyway.”

Shit. That can’t have gone down well. “I thought you’d raised him, at St. Agnes.”

“He was one of my charges, yes. But I didn’t allow myself to treat him any differently. I didn’t think it was fair to the other children, or that I even had the right. Maybe I was wrong.” She stood up and pulled the sheets a little higher over Matt. “You were a foster child, right?”

“Yeah. But Barney and me, we never stayed anywhere for long.” He followed her down to the kitchen.

“You were both orphans,” she said.

“Yeah.” Okay, enough with feelings. “Coffee?” She nodded, and he busied himself with the coffee machine. “You’re a nun,” he told the spoon in his hand. “Does it bother you?”

“…being a nun?” She was laughing at him on the inside, he could see it on her face.

“That we, um. That I’m a… guy?” This time she laughed out loud and Clint jumped, spilling the grounds all over the counter. “Aw, coffee, no.”

“Much less than his dressing up as the Devil and fighting people under cover of night.” Uh, okay. Not a ringing endorsement, was it? “I worry for him. I worry that what he does and who he is, that his choices will hurt him more than they already have. As for your question… I don’t want to learn that he was put in a hospital for holding hands with another man, I don’t want anyone to ever tell him he should be excommunicated or that he’s not worthy of God’s love.” She leaned forward a little. “But what _bothers me_ is when he is hurt, not who he loves.”

Oh no, big word, big word! Big word alert! “We’re not – I don’t, I mean…” She raised her eyebrows. “We’re just…” No, not any better, no, no no no! He looked behind her at Lucky’s one judgy eye. Even his dog was disappointed in him, damn. _Good going, Barton_.

“Not who he fucks, then. Better?”

“Yes! No! Yes! I don’t know!” Was she even allowed to use that word?

She smiled a serene nun smile at Clint, then fished a little bottle from her tote. “Let’s spike that coffee,” she said. Okay, definitely not holy water. “You look like you need it.”

He sure did. God bless Sister Maggie.

Matt seemed a bit better after his mom’s (!!) visit. He said he shouldn't rely on Clint all the time, and he insisted on staying some nights at St. Agnes. He still hated having to depend on other people’s help, of course, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He was working hard on finding ways to deal with as much as possible on his own, but Clint doubted he’d ever be as independent as he’d been before. It sucked.

But it was good they had some time apart, too. He suspected the Sister had pointed out that Matt couldn't rely on only one person, especially his… you know. Guy man. And it also was good to go back to a more regular training and Hawkeye-ing schedule; he’d skipped most missions for a month and Tony had insisted it was fine, but Clint had never liked being inactive too long. It wasn’t good for him, and he knew it. Matt, he suspected, knew it too; he was the same after all.

It also meant that when they were together, things were more… relaxed. Matt didn’t use Tony’s VamBraille with Clint; he preferred reading his face. He said the VamBraille was good to keep some professional distance, but that he liked feeling Clint’s skin under his fingers. Clint wasn’t complaining; _he_ liked it too. They still used printing or signing, of course, especially when they were working out. Panting made it hard to read a face, Matt said. Clint suspected Matt just wanted to touch him as much as possible, since he couldn't see or hear him. It made Clint a little too fuzzy inside and that was weird, so he tried not to think too much about it.

And he enjoyed it when all the touching led to, well. Other stuff.

Sometimes, when the weather was nice, they spent time on Matt’s roof. Clint set up a couple targets there and Matt generally worked on his laptop as Clint practiced. Jessica said that Bullseye had been targeting Vanessa Fisk’s henchmen, and that Madame Gao’s new drug operation was growing while Fisk’s was shrinking. For now, while he was busy with other stuff, it meant they were off Poindexter’s radar. Still, both women had fingers in more than one pie, and Clint imagined their turf war would soon turn into something bigger than mobster-on-mobster fights.

There was one good thing from this mess: it had made it obvious that Matt’s original client was innocent, so Sheppard was now free for good. That had really boosted Matt’s confidence, too; he’d even made a closing speech once after that. No one had told him about the articles about the deaf-blind lawyer who still kicked ass against adversity, but their practice was doing well in part because of it. He’d be horrified if he knew, Foggy had said even as he was hanging a Bulletin front page about it in their waiting room, but hey. It worked.

And really, all in all, things were settling, and they were good. Clint kept hitting the target, Matt was alternating typing on his laptop and reading with the VamBraille, and the night was just warm enough they didn’t need more than a sweatshirt. _Thunk_, went the last of the regular arrows as it sunk into the target. Clint tapped Matt’s shoulder.

“Let me guess, they’re all right where you wanted them to be?”

OFC

Matt smiled. “What did you do this time?”

GO C 4 URSELF

“Aw, fine.” He set his laptop to the side and felt his way along the roof ledge with the tip of his cane until he reached the target. Clint hung his bow on the stand behind him and started sorting through his arrows while Matt was feeling for those he’d shot at the target. Net, taser, boomerang, explosive, mic, taser, glue, USB… He really should label them.

Matt’s surprised laughter made him look up. “Did you… try to write Braille?” Yup. He’d sunk arrows where the bumps should have been, and hoped that Matt would deduce they were letters from the distance between the arrows, hoping he’d gotten the proportions right. Matt had noticed. “H, W, K, I – uh… Oh! Hawkeye? Really?”

Yes, well. You usually started by learning how to write your name, right? He was mentally preparing for Matt’s teasing when there was a sudden flash and bang. Clint threw himself to the ground, his eyes tearing up. Shit, he hadn’t been expecting that; but at least his hearing aids had adjusted quickly enough he hadn’t been entirely deafened. He blinked and looked around the brick chimney that hid him. Where was Matt?

He heard the fight first, the dull thunk of something hitting wood, an arrow shaft breaking. He saw them next: Bullseye holding a gun, Matt raising the target like a makeshift shield. He only he felt it then, the burning pain, the way his leg wasn’t working properly. Aw shit, bullet wound. Clint wasn’t going to stand on that leg for a little while, fine. Fine. No big deal. But Matt…! Clint put pressure on the hole in his thigh, gritted his teeth, and watched in horror as Matt stumbled and fell back, still holding what was left of the target. Bullseye raised the gun and aimed for the head and then – whoa.

Matt had faked it. He’d faked the fall, used it to get closer to Poindexter and hook a leg around that asshole’s, and made _him_ trip, stabbing a broken arrow tip in Bullseye’s gut as he went down. Center mass, efficient and easiest to find; Matt was fighting smart. Matt smashed the target in the gun so the shot went wild, and Bullseye dropped the gun and screamed. Except Matt had him now, and he was as good as he’d ever been in such close quarters. Clint had the bruises to attest to that; they’d been sparring for weeks.

They had, but Bullseye still had a knife strapped to his ankle, and Matt – Matt was bleeding, too. But he’d bought Clint time; Poindexter had to keep all of his focus on Matt as they were grappling. Clint pushed himself up on his elbows and crawled to the bow stand; it had fallen down when the flash grenade hit it. Shit, his leg was screaming and he was starting to see black dots swimming around in his vision. He was losing blood too fast. Clint checked his bow, at least, was unharmed, and he ran his hand over his fallen arrows. Taser, boomerang, explosive, mic, taser, glue, net. Taser. Clint smiled. He’d only need one.

He shot Bullseye right where his suit was torn by Matt’s broken arrow, made sure it hit skin; then Clint let himself bellyflop on the roof. The rooftop was suddenly very quiet apart from Clint’s and Matt’s heavy breathing, and – why was the fire escape rattling? Maybe it was his head that was rattling, after all. Things were fuzzy. Fuzzi_er_.

“NYPD! Aw, hell.” There was another guy on the roof now, now. “Arrows, huh? what’s… Matt? Matt, that you? You’re hurt!”

Clint blinked. That was bad, right? That sounded bad. But he couldn’t quite explain why. “Hey,” he said. No one heard him.

The new guy spoke into some sort of comm, he sounded worried; anxious. “Matt, stay with me, I swear my mom’s going to have my hide if you… you can’t hear me, can you? _Shit_.”

“Clint? Where’s Clint? You’re not Clint.” Matt’s voice came from further and further away.

Other voices now, other people milling around; something that made the pain in his leg flare up. “Matt?” he asked. Clint wasn’t sure he’d said it out loud. He closed his eyes; there were too many bright, flashing lights around right now.

It was cold on that roof.

Clint woke up to too-familiar smells, with a too-familiar numbness in a limb and a too-familiar cottony feel in his mouth. He already was tired of this room.

“Gah,” he said, but he couldn’t hear himself. “Huh.” Someone did something to his ears, and sound rushed in.

“Clint, you dumbass.” Nat? “Barney’ll get here tonight, he’s ready to tear you a new one.”

“Kay.” A door opened and closed, and she was out. She wasn’t the cuddly kind, the work-wife.

“Mr Barton, can you hear me now?”

Huh. Voice? Not a too-familiar voice, but after a second he placed it. The cop on the roof. “Erg.” Clint tried to peel his tongue free from the roof of his mouth. 

“I’m going to need a bit more than that.”

Clint blinked. “Eh?” Tongue moving now, good. Now, the lips that were stuck to his teeth. He’d spoken with the doc a little earlier; he could do this.

“You’re welcome.”

“Ugh.”

The cop smiled. Sort of. His mouth stretched, rather. It was something that said ‘I’m making an effort for show but don’t push me _or else_.’ “Detective Mahoney,” he said. “Wasn’t expecting to find Hawkeye shooting arrows on Matt’s roof while a demented killer tries to off you both, but what do I know, right?”

“Late,” Clint said. There, victory: an actual word. “Matt?” He blinked for added effect.

“He’s fine. Well, mostly. He threw a fit when he found out I wasn’t you, then he lost consciousness, like you did. He’s just been kidnapped by Stark, guy was mad. Something about breaking prototypes and having to do tests. He wheeled him right out of here.”

Clint looked to his left and yep, there was an empty space where the other bed had been before his nap. Directly from the Tower medbay to the workshop. Tony, no. “Late,” he repeated.

“Yes. I’ll need a statement as soon as you’re up to it, but anything you can give me right now…”

“Bullseye, taser arrow, the end.”

“…right.” Mahoney looked supremely unimpressed. “Look, I know you’re faking it, Hawkeye. I saw you two, huh, chatting with your hands earlier. Cut the crap, all right?”

Shit, busted. Clint fumbled the bed control so he could sit and face the cop. “Doesn’t it look bad? I’m injured, you know.” Also he’d been sleeping and he was still fuzzy from sleep and drugs, so he wasn’t technically _faking _anything_._

“Yes, and that was two days ago.”

Not last night? Damn, so he was _maybe_ a bit more confused than he’d thought. “Goth Snow White said Poindexter was too busy taking off Fisk’s men to come after us.” Clint felt like whining. He was allowed, right? What with the hole in his leg.

“Goth… Jessica Jones?” Clint nodded. Woohoo, woozy head. “Yeah, well. She gave us intel so we could send SWAT teams to one of Fisk’s warehouses, but we ended up in the middle of a shootout. Some of us went after Bullseye when he was spotted escaping. He went straight to Matt’s building, for some reason. Any idea why?”

“Um, he and Foggy got him charged with… charges, right?”

“Uh huh. He was carrying a notebook with a list of names, some crossed out. Those were people he’d offed. And you know what other names were there too, waiting to be crossed out?” Clint didn’t answer. “Both Fisks, some of their high-ranking lieutenants, Murdock, Karen Page… bunch of people.”

“Sucks to be them.”

“There was also Jessica Jones, and _you_. Not Daredevil though, yet they’re known to be enemies.”

“Daredevil hasn’t been active lately, right?”

Mahoney glanced at the empty space where Matt’s bed had been. “Not that I know of, no.”

“Shame.”

“Right.” Mahoney closed his notepad. “So, you’ve got good eyes, they say.”

Clint narrowed said eyes. “Yeah?”

“Who was up there with you?” Okay, what? “Matt is a lawyer, not a fighter, and you were bleeding out on the other end of the roof; yet someone landed some good hits on Poindexter before you got him, and he’s not talking. Who was it? If there’s a new player, I need to know.”

“Dunno. It’s all a bit, uh, confused, in my memory?” Clint gave the detective his best gormless smile. Nat always said he played the idiot part like he was born to it.

“Right. Yet you were clear-headed enough to land a precise shot.”

“Eh, you know. It’s my thing.” He mimed shooting an arrow. “Thwump!”

Mahoney sighed. “_Thwump_.” Then his eyebrows went up, and Clint could almost see the light bulb go on above his head. “Oh, _damn, _it’s true. Well, fuck me.”

Clint wisely kept silent while Mahoney was going through some sort of epiphany.

“Guess Poindexter must have found some of my guys on the way to that roof, right?”

Clint hummed (no more nodding, ugh). “Yeah, probably.”

“Fine.” Detective Done With Dorks stood up. “You tell Matt he did good, yeah?”

“You tell him yourself.”

“Nah, he doesn’t know I know. Don’t mention _me_, Barton.”

Mahoney left, shaking his head like a guy that couldn't believe what he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Clint decided he liked him, and picked up his phone to harass Kate about Lucky.

When the docs finally let them leave the next day, Clint and Matt went straight to Bed-Stuy. Simone had promised them a rooftop barbecue to end all rooftop barbecues and she’d even called Nelson and Murdock's office to invite whoever should be invited for Matt, too. She also reminded him Barney had come from wherever he’d been for his baby brother and that he’d be there, which put a glint in her eye that Clint chose to ignore in favor of a hug fest with Lucky. Poor pizza dog, having to stay in Kate’s fancy digs for three whole days instead of living the life on Clint’s lumpy old couch.

But Simone did deliver; it sure was one of their best barbecues ever. Tony even dropped by with Avengers merch for the kids and Foggy came with his girlfriend, a sassy blond who immediately bonded with Nat and Kate. Clint and Foggy exchanged a few ‘We’re doomed’ glances, but what could you do? Not stop them, that was for sure.

The party wound down in the early morning, long after Barney had put the kids to bed (which, whoa, what had Simone _done_ to him? No, wrong thought. Very wrong, ew, brain bleach please), and Clint had to half-drag, half-carry a very buzzed Matt down the stairs to his apartment. Not that he was much more clear-headed, but yeah. The deaf leading the deaf-blind, as Leather Snow White had said. They went straight to the bed and damn, how much did he _love_ his bed? So, so much. Especially with a warm, pliant, giggly Matt right next to him. Nice and cozy, it was.

It wasn’t the bright morning light that woke him up after all, but pointy fingers in his side. He looked at Matt.

“Phone’s ringing,” Clint read on his lips.

Wait, what? He grabbed his aids and slid them in. “Matt?”

“Wut.” Okay, that was an epic bedhead. Cute, but.

“Did you _hear_ my phone ringing?”

“S’far away, downstairs? Why’re you whispering anyway,” he slurred from where he’d stuck his face back in the pillow.

Oh my god. Okay, he wasn’t whispering and his phone was right there on the bedside table but yes, it was blinking at him. “Matt.”

“Sleeeeep.”

“_Matt_.” He shook him before he fell back asleep. “Matt, it’s coming back!”

“Huh?” Matt rubbed his face, then froze. “…Clint?”

“I’m right here, buddy.”

Matt’s unfocused eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers near his ear. “Oh,” he said. Then he smiled. “Simone’s kids are up and your brother is making pancakes.” Fuck, that _smile_; it was lighting up Clint’s world.

“You hear all that?”

“Snatches.” He tilted his head like a bird, just like he used to. “It’s coming and going, a bit muffled. But I can _smell_ the pancakes.”

“You hungry?”

The smile turned sharper. “Oh, very.”

_Jesus Christ_ that was the Batman voice and the cocky, Daredevil grin and the bedhead of the century and fuck, the whole package was making Clint’s knees turn to jelly. Good thing they already were in bed, huh? Because they might not get out of it for a while yet.

The rest of the world could wait a little longer for them.

**Author's Note:**

> A few TW that you might want to know about:  
Clint uses hearing aids all through the fic and Matt is blind, as per canon. Also, both get wounded and bleed as per canon too (damn, they're whump magnets, right?)  
However, Matt is also deafened for a large part of the fic and has to deal with that too.  
Happy ending! & Matt kicks ass with and without his hearing ;-)
> 
> In order for Matt to communicate, he uses a variety of tools, one of my starting points was [this](http://www.aadb.org/factsheets/db_communications.html). Most Deaf-Blind people are not 100% both deaf and blind, but Matt does nothing by halves so... ;-)  
Matt's (remaining) senses are super sensitive etc etc so he picks up everything really quickly... but not immediately ;-)
> 
> One big inspiration for this fic was [this](https://edgebugart.tumblr.com/post/117120104391/everyones-favorite-daredevil-and-hawkeye-having-a) art by @edgebugart on Tumblr, go give them some love!
> 
> There’s some other stuff in my tumblr [Hawkeye tag](https://titconao3.tumblr.com/tagged/hawkeye), and quite a few in my queue that will show up too... Lots of talented artists out there ♥ Thanks to you all!


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